


Mac Ruaidh

by Lenny9987



Series: Lenny's Imagine Claire and Jamie Prompts [31]
Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 05:29:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10483125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: Prompt: Imagine a universe where Jamie got to keep William as his own, pretty please!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Gotham-Ruaidh for coming up with a name for this AU.

The cold of the raging storm outside had nothing on the cold that invaded his veins at the news from the Ellesmeres’ cook, though he was less certain whether it was caused by the news that Geneva was dead or that her husband was thoroughly convinced her child had been fathered by another man.

Though it was wrong to curse the dead, the impulse was strong. He had known when he accepted her twisted bargain that it wouldn’t be so simple. He should have tried harder to find a way out of it without giving in to her demands. As his anger and frustration rose the chill faded and heat rose through him.

Perhaps his wits had gotten slow from lack of use. In the cave he’d had little to do but think and second guess his every move; at Ardsmuir there had been the men to think on, their welfare to negotiate and in the governor he’d found a man willing to challenge and bargain shrewdly, not to mention the opportunities to play at chess or read a bit from one of the books on the shelf. But at Helwater he had slipped into a routine that didn’t require the same mental exertions; physical exhaustion carried him to his bed at night and the relative freedom of movement––being outdoors and working but not under the eyes and guns of guards––he had given over to enjoying the simpler aspects of his life, pushing aside the harsh terms of his servitude. In playing the part of a mere groom perhaps some of the simplicity he played at had seeped into his mind and impeded his faculties.

How else could he explain the apparent ease with which Geneva––hardly more than a lass––had gotten the upper hand on him enough to force his compliance?

Jamie closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, urging his mind towards quiet. Half a dozen ideas for what he could have done or said differently in the field that day were fighting with each other as though settling on which would have been most effective might change his current situation.

But what exactly was his situation? The lad was his by blood but Ellesmere’s by law and as far as appearances were concerned.

The rising heat of Jamie’s anger cooled suddenly as something within him sank. He had a son, another child he wouldn’t have a chance to see or raise or know. Well, perhaps Ellesmere would let the lad visit Helwater from time to time; the Dunsanys were still the babe’s family. Jamie might be able to see him from a distance, which was more than he’d had of either of his other two children.   _Lord that she might be safe, she and the child_ , he prayed silently, habitually, and then with a sigh added, _And may Lady Geneva rest peacefully_.

A maid came scurrying into the kitchen with wide eyes. “Your master wants you right away,” she urged Jamie and Jeffries. “And he wants you to come armed.”

Jeffries ran to fetch the pistols from the carriage but Jamie urged the maid to show him to Lord Dunsany immediately; if arms were indeed needed he shouldn’t have trouble improvising with something at hand or at least stalling until Jeffries could join them.

Ellesmere and Dunsany were both red-faced from screaming as he entered and looked about to come to blows.

“Your daughter was a whore and I’ll not have her bastard bearing my name,” Ellesmere hollered. “I’m getting rid of him one way or another.”

“My daughter was no WHORE!” Dunsany screamed, taking a swing at Ellesmere who easily dodged it. “And you’ll not shame my grandson with your lies!”

“He’s no son of mine, of that I’m sure,” Ellesmere taunted Dunsany, “so that ought to tell you all you need to know of your daughter and her character.”

Jamie felt the blood drain from his face but it had no effect on his legs. He inserted himself between the two men saying nothing.

“We had an arrangement when I agreed to marry that slut and I don’t care––”

Jamie gave Ellesmere a shove so that he fell back into a cushioned chair. Both he and Dunsany were startled into silence by the action.

“Have ye no heard that it’s rude to speak ill of the dead?” Jamie said with a quiet calm that made Ellesmere go pale. “There’s a child lost its mother and parents lost their child. Whatever betrayal ye may be feeling, have a care for their grief at least or ye dinna deserve to call yerself a gentleman.”

The color returned to Ellesmere’s face in a rush of red but he simply clenched his fists in his chair as Jamie continued to stare down at him from his physically imposing height.

“Tha–thank you, MacKenzie,” Dunsany muttered weakly behind him. “I’ve sent my wife to fetch the child. We’ll be leaving with him this afternoon and––”

“No,” Ellesmere said with cold fury. “You’ll not be leaving this house with that child and playing the gracious grieving parents offering to raise him for me because I’m too distraught or whatever bullshit reason you give the gossip-mongers. _I never touched your daughter and I’ll not have her bastard son as my heir_.”

“I’ll take him.” The words were out of Jamie’s mouth before he’d even thought them and once again both Ellesmere and Dunsany were shocked into silence.

Swallowing and turning to begin pacing, Jamie was aware of the men’s attention on him while he scrambled to piece his impulse together into a plan.

“I’ll take the bairn and raise him as mine––a lad got on a kitchen maid that left and sent him to me rather than raise him herself,” Jamie said quickly. “As far as Lady Geneva goes, her bairn died and can be buried with her.” He turned to Ellesmere. “It frees ye of having a living heir ye dinna want and garners ye a bit more sympathy than a scandal would––or would ye rather word of yer… _inabilities_ spread along with yer insinuations about yer late wife?”

Ellesmere glared at Jamie who stood holding the older man’s eye without flinching. He was vaguely aware of the throbbing pulse in the man’s throat, a subtle fluttering movement that was slightly out of sync with a twitch in the corner of the man’s right eye. Ellesmere blinked and Jamie let the breath he’d been holding go then turned to Dunsany.

“I ken it’s no how ye want the lad to come to yer house,” Jamie said with gentle understanding, a tone of voice he’d used frequently on skittish horses. “But he’ll be near ye and ye’ll have a chance to see him even if he canna know the truth of who ye are.”

“You propose to raise an infant on your own while working as a stablehand…” Dunsany summarized with obvious skepticism.

“I’m sure my employer will prove sympathetic to my plight having so recently lost a beloved child of his own. None would question such an impulse under the circumstances,” Jamie reasoned. “But… he would be _mine_. I’d have the final say over him.”

Dunsany’s mouth was drawn tight and grim but there was exhaustion and resignation in it too.

“Why? Why would you do such a thing?” Dunsany asked.

Jamie inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. “My wife,” he said quietly, his voice barely managing not to break at the mention of Claire, at the thought of discussing her with these people, of bringing her memory into the light of day to be gawked at when he preferred keeping her to himself, cherished and protected. “My wife and I wanted… We lost our first at birth. It took time for her to get with child again… and then I lost them both together… I love my wife still and dinna mean ever to wed again… but it pains me to think I’ll no have a chance to be a father. A child without a father ought to have one and if I’m no to be father to my wife’s children, I should like to act as father to such a child.”

“If you want the bloody bastard you can have him,” Ellesmere said, unmoved by Jamie’s display of emotion. “I just want all of you out of my house and out of my life as soon as possible.”

But Jamie’s focus remained on Dunsany and the watery redness of his eyes. When Dunsany blinked his head moved in a subtle nod.

“William?” Lady Dunsany asked as she appeared at the door to the library with the blanket wrapped infant in her arms and Jeffries at her side, the pistols from the carriage clearly visible.

“Jeffries, those won’t be necessary,” Dunsany said, his voice thick but firm.

Dunsany crossed to his wife and whispered about the proposed arrangement. Lady Dunsany was shaking her head vehemently and clutching the tiny bundle to her tightly before Dunsany was even half-way through. Her eyes darted to Jamie, pleading, but then caught Ellesmere’s hard and unsympathetic expression. Dunsany moved to take the child from her arms but she shook him off and took the first few steps towards Jamie, her hold on the child never loosening.

“He’s called William,” she said firmly.

“Louisa,” Dunsany began to say but she interrupted him.

“It’s William; she gave him that name and I think it’s the least MacKenzie can do to call him by the name his mother gave him before she died.” The grief in her voice was strong but lent that strength to her resolve.

“Aye,” Jamie whispered looking to reassure the grieving grandmother. “William is a good strong name for the lad. My older brother was called William. May I hold him?”

With tears streaking down her cheeks, Lady Dunsany brushed the blanket aside so that she could look at the face of her sleeping grandson and trail a finger down his cheek before yielding him to Jamie’s large hands and strong, solid arms.

The child didn’t seem to weigh a thing and yet for the first time in more than a decade, Jamie felt as though his feet had a solid hold on the ground. The baby’s ears stuck out a little and his shut eyes appeared to slant a bit––nothing that blatantly suggested the child in his arms was his by blood to anyone in the room aside from him––but he couldn’t help swallowing against a lump the observation created in his throat. Claire had told him that Faith had those features when she’d held her; had they looked like this? The lad’s hair was darker than his own, promised to be a rich brown like his mother’s… like Claire’s.

The other people in the room faded from Jamie’s awareness as he gently rocked the sleeping bairn and made his way closer to the warmth of the fire; it was just him and his son. Had the child Claire carried with her through the stones been born with her hair, or his? Had that child looked like this child? Closing his eyes and focusing on the warmth of the small, fragile body in his arms, Jamie could almost convince himself that he was standing before the hearth in the laird’s room at Lallybroch with Claire resting in the bed behind him, that this son in his arms was somehow one of the many yearned for but unborn children he was supposed to have had with Claire in that life they were supposed to have lived together.

“ _Fàilte mo mhac_ ,” he said quietly then looked up and around until he spotted what he was looking for on Jeffries. He crossed and had the knife out of the paralyzed coachman’s belt.

“What are you doing?” Lady Dunsany screeched, similarly frozen as her eyes went wide seeing a blade so close to the baby.

But Jamie ignored her. William was sleeping securely and oblivious in the crook of Jamie’s right arm while he held the knife tight in that same hand and used his teeth to pull up the sleeve of his left arm so that nothing was in the way of that hand. The middle finger bent towards his palm and lightly pressed at the faint ‘C’ at the base of his thumb before he flexed the hand flat and guided the point of the knife a little further below the old scar. Blood of my blood and bone of my bone. His blood had mingled with Claire’s and was part of him, even now so many years later, she was and always would be a part of him. It was a shallower cut, only enough to raise a small line of blood, then he let the knife fall to the floor at his feet.

“Is tusa Uilleam donn mac Sheumais ruaidh,” Jamie murmured as he smeared the blood across the boy’s forehead. The sensation caused the child to squirm and his eyes to peek open. “Aye… Mac Ruaidh mar tha mi Mac Dubh.”

Turning towards the shocked and wary faces of the Dunsanys and Ellesmere Jamie explained, “Now, he is of my blood.” _My blood and Claire’s_. With pride he claimed, “He is my son.”


	2. Chapter 2

Despite her initial reluctance to relinquish her grandson to Jamie, Lady Dunsany wound up taking the lead in making the necessary arrangements for the sake of appearances. A wet nurse was engaged to take the infant for up to a fortnight; none of them would know precisely when the infant would be brought to Helwater. Ellesmere’s servants (with a few exceptions whose discretion could be trusted) were informed that like his mother before him, the child had died. Ellesmere agreed to let the Dunsanys take Geneva and her child home to Helwater for the funeral and burial. A few days after the funeral, the baby would be brought to Helwater and left for Jamie with a scribbled note and he would make sure the Helwater servants saw him making an appeal for assistance to the Dunsanys. 

Letting William go was painful and he had to remind himself it was only for a few days, that he  _ would _ see this child again. Still, he lay awake each night on his pallet in the loft waiting and praying that that would be the night one of the maids came to fetch him.

Jamie was working through a daze re-shoeing the horses in the yard when Major Grey arrived. Though his bags were brought inside right away, Major Grey lingered in the yard watching Jamie at his work. Jamie bowed his head back to the task at hand and refused to look up again until he was confident Major Grey had gone inside to see Dunsany. 

He shouldn’t be so surprised that Major Grey had shown up; he was an old friend of the Dunsany family, which was part of how he’d managed to arrange Jamie’s parole at Helwater in the first place. But Jamie’s mind couldn’t have been further from Geneva’s impending funeral as he crouched with the horse’s foot clutched between his legs and the cold tang of the metal nails clenched between his teeth. He was wondering where on the road between Ellesmere’s estate and Helwater the wet nurse and whoever her escort might be were; whether the journey was making William fussy and irritable or if he was cooperating and sleeping a lot; how many hours it would be before the tight knot of anxiety in his chest would loosen. 

Jamie didn’t see Major Grey again until Geneva’s funeral. Jamie attended the funeral along with most of the estate’s staff, standing towards the back of the crowded chapel; he had no difficulty seeing the proceedings. Under normal circumstances, he would have followed along with the service adding his own silent prayers and making note of the differences between this Protestant service and the Catholic ones he knew better. There were more than enough similarities to make up for the differences. 

A young mother dead in childbed; her child gone with her; a grieving husband and family mourning her publicly. A heavy feeling of disgust settled in Jamie’s stomach; aside from the first, Geneva’s funeral was both echo and mockery of what his own mother’s had been. William lived though only a handful in attendance knew. Her parents’ and sister’s grief was real enough but Ellesmere sat stone faced, staring at the coffin and undoubtedly judging the soul that used to belong to the body within. Guilt swept through Jamie for he had been so quick to do the same with regards to Geneva. He would try to forgive her for his son’s sake and would beg her forgiveness for the fact the boy could not know her or even know of her. He hoped that made them even. 

_ I’ll raise him as best I can,  _ he promised her silently,  _ and I’m sorry, but there’s only one way I ken how. It's no the way ye would have wanted, but he’ll be loved. And someday… someday I’ll try to bring myself to tell him the truth.  _ And with the minister’s final prayers, Jamie tried to set Geneva Dunsany aside for good. 

Major Grey found Jamie in the crowd after the service had finished when everyone was lingering, uncertain what to say to the grieving family, unwilling to be the first to leave. 

“It was good of you to come,” Grey said, making an awkward start. 

Jamie grunted his agreement as he moved to find a way out of the crowd, the rest of the servants and staff having drifted out before the service had finished in order to prepare the house for the gathering of guests who would linger for hours or––in some cases––days. 

“Are you feeling all right?” Grey asked, his eyes narrowing as he took in Jamie’s haggard appearance. 

“Tired is all, sir,” Jamie responded with a curt politeness intended to remind Grey of the company around them. “Ye’ll have heard of the storm we rode through to reach Ellesmere. The carriage was stuck often and it was cold and weary work dislodging it. I’m still recovering and actually ought to be getting back for a rest while I can.”

“Of course,” Grey relented. “I will speak to you sometime before I leave.”

“How long are ye to stay?” 

“Just a day or two. I want to be sure the family don’t require anything of me before I return to London.” 

Jamie nodded but an acquaintance of Grey’s appeared and struck up a conversation with him assuming Grey had simply been giving instructions of some sort to Jamie.

Relieved to be free of the large group of mourners, Jamie slipped away to the stables where there were a multitude of guests’ horses that needed to be tended before their owners could begin departing. It was the kind of busy work that distracted a person from their thoughts and Jamie relinquished himself gladly to the monotony of movement that exhausted his body so that come nightfall he lay on his pallet in the loft and finally fell into a light but restful sleep. 

The following afternoon Jamie was returning with the line of horses from one of the distant paddocks when he noticed the horses increasing restiveness as they drew closer to the house and stables. One of the kitchen maids emerged from the stable with her hands on her hips and crossed to Hughes with a question. Hughes started to shrug then spotted Jamie and the maid’s head spun in his direction. 

His heart began to pound and his palms to sweat as he continued toward her at a steady and reluctant pace, all his energy focused on maintaining an air of ignorance, all his mind in chaos as he yearned to have the charade over with so he could be alone with his son in his arms. 

“You’re needed in the house MacKenzie,” the maid called when he was closer. Hughes trailed behind her already reaching for the horses’ line while Jamie headed for the nearby trough to wash the dirt from his hands. She followed him with growing impatience. “There’s a message along with a uh… well, you’d best just come and see.”

The maid was close to running but Jamie’s stride was long enough for him to keep up without looking worried or in a rush. 

Silence fell in the kitchen when Jamie finally appeared on the scene. A space had been cleared on the table; meat, herbs, and a few vegetables pushed aside in various states of preparation so that a large basket could rest in the middle, away from the edge. 

The housekeeper stood beside it wearing an authoritative posture. She held out the opened envelope for Jamie to take as soon as he was close enough. He frowned at the broken seal and peered over the edge of the basket to see William wrapped securely in several layers of blankets, his face barely visible and his nose rosy from the chill in the air outside.

Turning his back on the basket, Jamie pulled out the note and skimmed it, already having a vague idea of what Lady Dunsany would have written for the wet nurse to copy before delivering the child to Helwater. He was pretty sure the housekeeper could read and wondered how deep into the household the note’s contents had already managed to spread. 

Setting the note aside, Jamie reached into the basket and pushed the blanket aside so it was clear of William’s face. Relief washed through him as he saw that the infant appeared to be in good health; he wasn’t pale or feverish or clammy and his face had lost the squashed appearance of the recently birthed. Jamie slipped his hands around the tightly wrapped body and lifted it out. Jarred by the sudden movement, William’s eyes flew open and Jamie could feel the baby’s limbs fight against the blanket that kept them tight against his body. A startled cry escaped the bundle and the housekeeper reached instinctively to take the child and calm him but Jamie moved William out of her reach and settled him in his own arms. 

Reassured by the solidity of resting in Jamie’s arms and against his chest, William’s cry weakened to a whimper and then faded as Jamie began whispering to him in soothing Gaelic, the vibrations of his low voice radiating through his body. William looked up at Jamie with wide eyes, his mouth forming a startled ‘O’ that made Jamie chuckle. 

“What’s happened here?” Lady Dunsany asked as she followed a maid sent to fetch her into the kitchen. She paled for a moment when she saw Jamie holding the baby but quickly recovered. 

“I believe I’m goin’ to need to have a word or two wi’ yer husband, my lady,” Jamie said in a way he hoped didn’t sound two practiced.

“What’s this?” Lord John asked coming in behind Lady Dunsany.

Jamie felt a nervous chill creeping up his spine as he watched Grey’s eyes widen momentarily with shock; his features remained unaltered as he looked into Jamie’s defiant face. 

“May I see that?” Grey asked indicating the note. 

“Lord John, please,” Lady Dunsany said with quiet firmness as Jamie yielded the slip of paper. “This is not the place to be doing this and it’s a matter for my husband to deal with, at any rate.”

Grey looked up from the note and at Jamie again then to the child in his arms. William wriggled a bit and grunted before passing a bit of gas. Jamie struggled not to smile at what appeared to be the babe’s opinion of such scrutiny. 

“You are right, of course, my lady,” Grey finally said. “Please, allow me to help you carry your things into the library while your mistress fetches her husband.” He reached over to the table and lifted the basket. 

“Thank you, sir,” Jamie said with formality before following Grey out of the kitchen. 

He wanted to reach out and take Grey by the collar, push him up against the wall of the hallway and lay into him for interfering; point out that no one beyond Dunsany was supposed to know his full background and that Grey’s assumption of authority in the kitchen threatened what anonymity using the name Alexander MacKenzie gave him. But having William in his arms was more than deterrent enough. 

The babe was starting to squeak and grunt again, this time clearly with hunger behind it. How long had it been since he’d eaten? How long would it take till Lady Dunsany could get a wet nurse to the house? What was it Jenny used to give the bairns to tide them over if she couldn’t nurse right away? 

Grey strode into the library with Jamie a few steps behind him and dropped the basket on the floor by the desk before whirling around and shutting the door. 

“What’s going on, Jamie?” Grey asked, his voice a harsh whisper. “I don’t for a minute believe that you got some random local woman with child the way this note suggests. Not without the household servants knowing about it and if they had suspected something and were gossiping about it, Tom would have heard and informed me.”

Jamie remained silent, turning his attention to William and walking towards the light of one of the windows, swaying as he did and calming the hungry child. William blinked against the light then sneezed. 

“What makes ye so sure he’s no mine?” Jamie asked quietly. 

“I know you, Jamie. You wouldn’t take advantage of some unfortunate or… or misguided young woman like that,” Grey insisted. “You’re too noble… too noble for your own good,” he added, under his breath. 

“There’s much about me ye dinna ken,” Jamie murmured letting William take the end of his finger in his hand. The babe shifted his head towards the finger, mouth gaping, ready to feast. It took a few tries for him to get the finger in his mouth. Jamie hoped the brief washing he’d given his hands on the way inside had gotten that finger clean enough; he could hear faint echoes of Claire scolding him about how sensitive infants could be to those germs of hers. 

“MacKenzie,” Dunsany said as he and his wife slipped into the library. “Lord John,” he added, clearly startled. “Thank you for keeping MacKenzie company just now. I think––”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I think you and I both know that whatever is happening with this child concerning  _ MacKenzie _ is my concern as well,” Grey interrupted with the clear intention of taking charge and a brief glance to Lady Dunsany, uncertain how much she knew of how and why Jamie had come to be a groom on the estate. “Now, as I’m sure your wife informed you, the note claims that MacKenzie is father to this child but it’s clear that he can’t possibly raise the boy here under these circumstances. If you require assistance, I can help arrange for the boy to be sent to his family in Scotland. Presumably he has family who would be able to care for the boy until such time––”

“No,” Lady Dunsany interjected. She had already drifted to Jamie’s side. “That won’t be necessary. MacKenzie can stay here with the baby so long as he’s in our employ. I’ll send to town to inquire after a wet nurse and you can be moved into the house; the child cannot be raised in the barn.”

Grey turned a confused look to his hostess as she reached for William and brought him to her shoulder, a hand caressing the back of his head. 

Understanding dawned in Grey’s face and he looked first to Dunsany and then to Jamie for confirmation. 

“Ah, yes. Well… I suppose that changes matters… I’ll leave you to your arrangements,” Grey stammered, heading for the door but throwing Jamie a look that indicated there were still matters the two of them would be discussing later. 

But the reluctance Jamie felt over the prospect of that discussion faded as he watched Lady Dunsany with tears in her eyes cradling her grandson. He couldn’t begrudge the Dunsanys for the comfort they found in the child but neither was he blind to the difficulties that lay ahead as far as drawing boundaries for how William would be raised and their role in his life. Grey could be an important ally for him when the time came for him to take William home to Scotland. He hoped for all their sakes that a balance could be struck that would enable them all to live in peace for some years to come. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was too hot for Jamie to sleep. It had been _years_ since Jamie slept in a proper bed in a proper room and it would take some time to get used to being close enough to a fire to keep properly warm. But he didn’t dare cross to open the window. Much as he would appreciate the relief of a bit of the January chill creeping in the room to counteract the effects of a hearth larger than the dimensions of the room required it to be, Jamie was terrified of what it might do to William sleeping nestled wrapped in blankets in the basket he’d arrived in earlier.

As his mind spiraled from William developing a cold to taking fever because of the open window, Jamie could feel the memory of Claire rolling her eyes before launching into a lecture about her germs and how it wasn’t cold temperatures that caused colds before finally conceding that yes, it would still probably be safer for him to keep the window shut.

There was another person who might object to such measures––the wet nurse Lady Dunsany had summoned, a young widow named Sabrina who had lost first her husband and then her three-month-old child to fever between Christmas and the New Year. The quiet woman had a cot of her own in an adjoining room she was sharing with one of the housemaids.

Lying awake and unmoving on the bed so as not to generate further heat, Jamie listened to the once familiar sounds of a house in the night. The logs in the hearth crackled quietly with occasional louder pops; the glass panes in the small window rattled whenever the wind picked up; the creaking floorboards in the hall and the cramped servants’ quarters beyond signaled other household staff moving about as they finally came to bed for the night or waking, made use of the chamber pot before resuming their unconscious states.

But the most prominent sound and the one that kept Jamie awake even as it calmed his nerves was the steady breathing and occasional groans of William beside him. Jamie would find some way to fashion a proper cradle for the baby before long but until then he refused to leave William’s basket on the floor while they both slept and instead had nestled the basket among the blankets on the bed. There was _just_ enough space for the basket when Jamie lay on his back with one arm draped around the woven curve but he felt most reassured when he curled his body protectively around it; the fear of knocking the basket and its bairn out of the bed lessened significantly. But lying on his back was the easiest way to feel that it wasn’t just the bairn in the bed beside him. The sounds of the house weren’t dissimilar to those of Lallybroch and Sabrina’s snoring in the next room brought a smile to his lips and memories of Claire––and her insistence that it was he who snored and not her––to his tired mind.

There was a hitch in the baby’s breathing and Jamie snapped up to peer inside. William’s fist was in his mouth but he needed something that offered sustenance rather than succor. Jamie reached in and swept him up and cradled him to his chest before he could begin to truly fuss. The warmth of his father against his cheek lulled William long enough for Jamie to slip out of bed, ease open the door between his room and the women’s, and gently rouse Sabrina for William’s feeding.

He tended the fire while she sat in a stupor, William latched to her breast but her arms holding him stiffly and she wouldn’t look at him.

“Did you wake him to feed?” she asked as the need to switch William from one breast to the other temporarily roused her from her stupor.

Jamie glanced over, his gaze falling on the back of his son’s head as it turned in search of the rest of his meal. Grinning when the boy found it, Jamie suddenly realized he’d been essentially gawking at the poor woman’s exposed breast and looked away again, grateful that the resultant flush could be blamed on the heat of the fire before him.

“No,” he muttered, finally answering her question. “No, I didna wake him. I was restless myself and heard him rouse. I’m… I’m no used to sleepin’ in the house,” he confessed.

“Me either. Not a house this grand. Thank you, by the way, for catching him before he could cry.” Surprised, Jamie looked over to see her eyes fastened unblinking on the flames in the hearth, shining with sorrow. “If he’d cried… If I’d heard him cry like that I wouldn’t have realized it wasn’t…”

“What was yer bairn’s name? The one ye lost,” Jamie asked quietly, gently.

The reply came in a whisper. “Carina… her name was Carina.”

Jamie nodded and swallowed before telling her, “Faith. My wife and I lost a lass at birth… years ago now. She was called Faith.”

“When did you lose your wife?”

There were times Jamie could feel the shape and weight of every minute he’d spent without Claire; that he could stack them in piles reaching the ceiling and group them into the days, weeks, months, and years they’d been apart. And other times it was a distinctly unquantifiable mass that he couldn’t escape––would _never_ escape… not until death.

“Years ago now,” he repeated knowing this young widow still enveloped in her own grief would be able to understand the struggle to find a way to carry on and live within grief’s muffling embrace.

“Thank ye,” he added a moment later. “For helpin’ wi’ my wee lad.”

Sabrina nodded and finally looked down at the infant suckling her breast. “He seems to be a strong one.” Her voice was hollow but she shifted her arms and her hold of William softened.

Whether the movement unsettled him or he had simply consumed his fill, William disengaged from Sabrina and promptly began to writhe and fuss.

Jamie was there in an instant and had him away from the wet nurse.

“He ate too fast,” she suggested, readjusting her shift and rising from the chair to return to bed. “Rub his back a bit and walk him about the room. He should settle back down.” The door between the rooms closed quietly and Jamie was left to calm his son on his own.

It still amazed him just how small and light the lad was, how fragile. And yet there was growing strength and coordination as Jamie felt William’s tiny arms pushing back against his collarbone and fighting to raise his head. The efforts exhausted him, however, and had failed to alleviate his discomfort. The stiff fingers of Jamie’s right hand pressed held William’s small torso in place while his thumb swept back and forth across the back in a steady rhythm that reduced William’s cries to a weak whimper. Jamie felt the tension leak out of William as the bubble of gas worked its way up and out of his belly. Though the smell was faintly sour, there was no dampness on his shoulder so William’s meal had successfully stayed put.

Jamie grinned and rested his cheek lightly against the small head.

An eruption from his own stomach startled him and made him laugh.

“Now yer belly’s full, mine seems to want a bite too,” he murmured. In the confusion of arranging the room and bringing his things in from the loft, Jamie had only had a few quick bites of supper in passing and hadn’t been able to take an extra bit of bread or cheese to have later as was his habit. “What say we take a short walk down to the kitchens, eh?” he told William, laying the baby on the bed long enough to pull on a pair of breeks.

William stretched, his body arching briefly and the blanket that had wrapped him slid off his legs so that his feet were exposed to the cold. The toes curled and he reflexively drew the limbs back closer to his body and the warmth of his core. Jamie pounced at the opportunity and quickly swaddled the baby as tightly as he dared, grateful to escape having to pin William’s arms and legs in place himself.

“Now, ye must be quiet as a wee mouse looking for scraps left by the kitchen maids,” Jamie whispered as he eased his way into the corridor with William tucked into the crook of one arm. William squirmed and emitted a small mouse-like squeak that made Jamie smile broadly.

The fires in the kitchen were never allowed to go out for the sake of practicality so the large room was invitingly warm even as Jamie’s bare feet slipped from the wooden steps of the servants’ back stair to the cool flat stones that lined the kitchen floor’s outer edges; as he moved closer to the main preparations table and the fire, they grew warmer to the touch.

“Is everything all right?” a voice inquired from a seat near the window.

Jamie spun to see Lord John with a fork in one hand and a plate in the other, a half-finished piece of mincemeat pie resting neatly upon it.

Jamie rolled his eyes as he closed them before looking down to check William hadn’t been disturbed by the abrupt movement. “Aye,” he said in a low even tone. “We’re fine.” The calm that had been on him as he made his way down to the kitchen––the peace of a household at rest––had fallen away. The surprise of Grey’s presence and the anticipation of a conversation he did not wish to have had sent a jolt through his system so that the pangs of his hunger were forgotten as a rush of other information flooded his senses. There were three ways out of the kitchen, the nearest being the stairs at his back, but those would only lead him deeper into the house as would the door in the far left corner; the door to the far right corner would lead to the yard and open air but Grey was still closer to both than he was and Lord John held nothing more dear than stale pie left from an elaborate dinner; it being a kitchen though, there were plenty of implements that could be used as weapons. None of which should matter because there was no _real_ threat to either himself or the baby and yet as he stepped closer to the table––Grey having risen and carried his plate back with a gesture inviting Jamie to join him in his midnight snack––Jamie was able to do so with the steady sureness of someone prepared for anything.

Grey cut a second piece of pie from the leftovers and set the plate near the fire for a few moments to heat up. Jamie busied himself by tending to William, readjusting his blankets and settling him more firmly in the crook of his right arm.

Grey set the plate and a fork in front of Jamie. “Do you need me to hold him while you eat?”

Jamie took the fork up easily in his left hand and shook his head. “I’ll be fine.” He took care not to smile as Grey blinked with amazement at Jamie’s ability to eat left-handed.

They ate in a silence that grew increasingly tense as each waited the other out to see who would broach the subject first.

“Why in God’s name did you agree to this arrangement?” Grey finally asked, setting his own fork down forcefully. “Did you hope to buy favor with Lord Dunsany and his wife by volunteering a solution that would allow them to see their grandson? Because if you hoped this would win their support in petitioning on your behalf for being released from your parole, I’m afraid you’ll find it will actually have the _opposite_ effect. They’ll want you here indefinitely if your leaving means you’ll take that boy with you. And if you simply wanted better treatment you need only have brought any mistreatment to my attention and I would have had a word with Lord Dunsany on the matter.”

“Are ye through?” Jamie asked when it appeared Grey was losing steam.

Grey let out a frustrated huff and picked up his fork again but only poked at the cooling piece of mince meat pie, the crust flaking off and making a mess in the pooling grease on the plate.

“I dinna expect ye to understand why I did it,” Jamie told him. “It doesna matter to me if ye do or no.”

“What do you expect you can offer this boy in your circumstances? It’s noble to offer to be a father to an orphaned child but––”

“I was a father long before this wee lad here,” Jamie interrupted firmly. “I became a father the day my wife told me she was with child. I didna stop _being_ a father simply because the child was lost… no more than I stopped bein’ my father’s son the day he died. Ye dinna _stop_ bein’ what ye were when circumstances change––ye can become _more_ than what ye were before but ye dinna become _less_ except by choice… except by how ye choose to see yerself.”

“That’s a noble philosophy but it doesn’t address the question of how you’ll provide for the boy––and I don’t just mean physically or monetarily,” Grey added. “The Dunsanys will see to both your needs as much as they can for the boy’s sake––with plenty of strings involved, I’m sure––but what do you plan to _tell_ him? About his mother? About yourself? Christ, Jamie, I’m the only one here who even knows your true name.”

“I’ll tell him as much of the truth as I can but I’ll no lie to him,” Jamie informed Grey. “When he’s older and I’m able to take him far enough from Helwater for it to make no difference, I’ll tell him everything.”

Grey was shaking his head, still unconvinced.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Grey finally said, rising from the table and dumping the last few bites of his pie into the fire. It flared up as the flames ignited the grease.

Jamie chuckled and Grey’s head spun to watch him in confusion. “Of course I dinna ken what I’m doing––no father does. It’s something ye learn as ye go, same as most things. But this lad is _mine_ and I’ll do what it takes to keep him safe and raise him well… even askin’ for help if and when I need it.” Grey’s eyes narrowed. “I ken that Lord and Lady Dunsany will no want to see the lad go from them and it willna matter what his age or what rumors follow him. But I also ken it wasna _their_ influence that saw me paroled here rather than transported.”

Jamie let the weight of his observation and the as yet unasked favor underlying it to settle.

Grey’s mouth dropped slightly open for a moment before he shut it again. He nodded his understanding and reminded Jamie, “You will let me know of any concerns that arise during my quarterly visits.”


	4. Chapter 4

One of the horses lost a shoe in the upper field so Jamie had to bring her back to the stable early in the afternoon.

“I’ll do the job for you if you’ll go to the kitchens and grab summat to eat,” Harris offered rubbing a hand on his belly.

“And why can ye no go to the kitchens yerself?” Jamie asked with a laugh. “Afraid of Cook are ye?”

“No afraid, man,” Harris shook his head but grinned as he pointed out, “but up the house they have a habit of givin’ _you_ better than the rest of us when it comes to food. You’ll likely come away with a bit of meat where I’d get cheese and bread at most and far more likely a hand smacked.”

“Fine,” Jamie agreed. “I ought to check on Willie anyhow. He’s been cuttin’ a tooth and––”

But Harris waved Jamie off as he started leading the horse to a stall where he could work on replacing the shoe.

Jamie rolled his eyes and gladly headed toward the house. Willie should be wide awake from his afternoon nap––assuming the poor lad had been able to sleep at all––but tired or not, he always greeted Jamie with a broad smile and a gleeful squeal. No matter how physically exhausted Jamie might be after working with the horses all day, spending that short time with Willie before he went down for the night was the best part of Jamie’s day.

As had become habit, Jamie stopped to wash up in the bucket of rainwater by the back kitchen door before heading into the kitchen. Cook poked her head out at the sound of him and smiled with relief.

“You did get word then,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron and ushering him into the house.

“Word? Word of what?” Jamie asked, immediately on edge. He looked to the corner where Sabrina and one of the kitchen maids took it in turns to keep an eye on Willie throughout the day. “Something’s happened?”

“The lad’s just been fussy with that tooth of his,” Cook explained. “He was loud enough it caught the mistress’ attention and she offered to take him for a spell, see if she couldn’t get him to calm and give the girls a break.”

Jamie’s mouth formed a tight line as he nodded. “I see. So she’s got him in the parlor, then?”

“Aye and I think Miss Isobel is with her. They’ve not had callers today so the boy’s providing a bit of diversion for them.”

Jamie tried not to snort derisively as he made to brush past Cook.

“If it’s not word of the babe that’s brought you to the house…” she began.

“Harris. He’s after a bite and is convinced ye give me better than ye’d give him were he to come himself.”

“Fool,” Cook muttered and shook her head as she started to fetch and assemble a basket for Jamie to take when he went back to the barn.

But Jamie had already passed through the kitchen and into the main house doing what he could to straighten his clothes into something presentable as he headed for the parlor. One of the maids spotted him coming and ducked in to give her mistress a warning though he could hear Willie’s uncomfortable whimpers from the hall.

Lady Dunsany and Isobel were sitting side-by-side on a sofa with Willie in Lady Dunsany’s lap squirming and red-faced from having been crying. Isobel had a damp cloth in her hands and appeared to have been either wiping Willie’s face with it or letting him chew on it––perhaps both. Seeing Jamie, she pulled the cloth away from the baby and fiddled with it nervously in her hands, the twisting motion releasing some of the water from the cloth and creating a wet spot on her skirts. Lady Dunsany showed no self-consciousness as Jamie entered the room and actually rose to greet him.

Willie spotted Jamie and broke out into fresh tears as he reached eagerly for his father.

Jamie was only too happy to take him and hold him close, letting the lad rub his face into his shirt and sob himself into exhaustion against his neck. Jamie was shocked at the heat emanating from the small body and raised a hand to Willie’s forehead. It was more than just the heat of a child worked up and crying; he was feverish.

“I know,” Lady Dunsany said with quiet concern. “I’ve already sent for the physician to come and have a look at him.”

“A physician?” Jamie asked skeptically as he shifted Willie in his arms and rubbed his back. The lad’s crying dropped to a persistent whimper as though he feared the adults would forget his complaint if he stopped making noise. Jamie looked down at Willie who reached up and pulled on his own ear with frustration––perhaps because he still didn’t have enough hair to make the gesture worthwhile.

“You needn’t worry about it MacKenzie,” Lady Dunsany insisted with a brief movement of her eyes to glance at her daughter without turning her head to look at her directly. “He is a friend of the family and even cared for Isobel here when she was a small.”

Jamie offered as polite a smile as he could manage. “I have no doubt as to the fellow’s credentials,”––which he didn’t; he was sure the physician was as practiced as most of his profession but if he’d learned anything from Claire it was how little such men knew about what they were doing––“ma’am, my concerns are more… _financial_ in nature.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Lady Dunsany assured him, an assurance that she supplied fast enough to catch her daughter by surprise. “Having so recently suffered the loss of a child, I should hate to see anyone else suffer in a similar manner,” she explained with a little too much practice. Isobel flushed with embarrassment and uttered a low, “Ma _ma_.”

“I thank ye for yer offer,” Jamie continued with practiced civility coating the iron of his will, “but I’d like to see how he does wi’ me tonight before ye go to the trouble of bringin’ in a physician to see him.”

“It’s no matter now. I already sent for him––invited him to dinner too, so if it indeed turns out to be nothing, it’ll be no bother for him.”

Jamie’s teeth clenched tightly even as he smiled and nodded to Lady Dunsany. “Then I’ll take Willie here to have a rest until yer physician arrives. Dinna want him passing his fever on to anyone else should it prove dangerous.” A lump of fear formed in his chest just alluding to such a possibility and he fought the urge to cross himself and say a prayer right there in front of the two ladies. He only waited until he and Willie were out of the parlor and headed back to the kitchen to start muttering the prayers of the rosary in Latin and then French to himself, pausing briefly to ask Cook to pass the message along to Harris that his son was ill and he would not be able to finish with the horses that evening.

“So long as he gets this basket I don’t think he’ll mind,” Cook said to ease Jamie’s conscious. “You take care of your little one and if you need help or advice, don’t be shy about asking.”

Jamie nodded before turning and heading up the stairs to the quiet of the servants’ quarters, blissfully empty at this hour of the afternoon.

Once in his room, Jamie took Willie and laid him down on the bed, checking him over as he wriggled and writhed, gnawing on his hand and drooling on everything. No matter which part of Willie he touched––arm, back, foot––he was hotter than he should be.

“Open yer mouth there, _a bhailach_ ,” Jamie said as he tried to examine Willie’s gums. Wet fingers closed around his and Jamie was able to just make out the spot where the new tooth was getting ready to break through before Willie bit down hard. “ _Ifrinn!_ ” he exclaimed, pulling his finger free of the babe’s mouth and shaking some feeling back into the digit. Startled, Willie began to wail again, his hand going back up and rubbing at his ear. He was beginning to make the skin around it red with the chaffing.

“Is it yer ear then, _mo chiusle_?” Jamie asked quietly, hoping a calmer tone would soothe him. He gently turned Willie’s head to examine the ear. There were no cuts or scrapes to it that he could see but an earache…

He remembered staying up with wee Kitty a time or two while she’d been teething but he’d been living in the cave for the bairns that came after her. Still he thought he recalled…

“Claire,” he breathed her name as the memory washed over him. It hadn’t been Kitty and teething but Maggie who had developed an earache at one point. When Claire worked out how best to treat it, she’d mentioned that some children had a tendency to develop ear infections when they teethed––during her nurse’s training she had treated a few children who suffered from them.

“How is he?” Sabrina asked meekly from the doorway. There was a different brand of fear written across her face, the fear of seeing something familiar and horrible starting all over again.

“I need clean cloth and some water to boil by the hearth here if ye can fetch it for me,” Jamie requested as he picked Willie up and began to rock him soothingly. Now that he had an idea what was wrong, Jamie felt the comfort of at least having a plan to follow. Sabrina nodded and turned away.

“Christ, Claire,” Jamie murmured as he pressed his cheek to Willie’s feverish head. “Help me do this well. Help me do as you would, did I have ye here.”

When Sabrina returned with the requested materials and had set the water to boil, Jamie sent her back for some goat’s milk; they had already started weaning Willie and it seemed an easy way to keep Sabrina busy.

“All right lad,” Jamie crooned as he laid Willie on the bed again and placed one of the cloths beneath his head. “I ken this’ll hurt a bit,” he explained as he retrieved a flask of whisky from the table drawer by his bed. Lord John had given it to him before departing at the end of his last quarterly visit but Jamie, unsure what to make of the gift, had put it away with no intent to drink it. “Putting it to medicinal use seems fair enough, though,” he whispered as he curled the end of a second piece of cloth and dipped it into the whisky.

Securing the flask again and setting it aside, Jamie leaned over Willie, took a deep breath, and apologized. “I’m sorry for this, _mo chiusle_.” He turned Willie’s head to the side so the bothersome ear was exposed and fed the end of the whisky soaked cloth into it before squeezing to release a few drops. As the alcohol hit the child’s inflamed inner ear, a screaming wail filled the room and the small body fought to get away from Jamie, the source of the pain.

“Hush, hush, hush,” Jamie tried to soothe him, rubbing his belly. Tears rose in his own eyes at the anguish of Willie’s cries. Rubbing the whisky left on the cloth on his finger, Jamie slipped it into Willie’s open mouth and rubbed it into the gums over his budding tooth.

The screaming cry quieted and Willie sucked at Jamie’s finger, the tears sliding down his cheeks and drying as his body shook with the effort to calm his sobs. Jamie smiled down at him even as he dreaded the prospect of repeating the procedure in another few hours. “Tha’s better now, no?” He pulled his finger from Willie’s mouth and the baby smacked his lips. “Aye, ye’re a true Scot now, eh? Got a taste for fine whisky already.” He tried to wink at Willie who blinked and smiled back at him.

“Is he feeling better now?” Sabrina asked as she brought in the goat’s milk. “Lady Dunsany came running to the kitchen and seemed about to come up when she heard him hollerin’ like that just now.”

“If she asks, ye can tell her he’ll be fine,” Jamie said. “I’ve got all the help I need.”

Sabrina nodded and watched Jamie as he pulled off Willie’s clothes until the babe was in naught but his clout. Willie grabbed his foot and pulled it to his mouth, chewing on his toes and twisting to look at Sabrina. Jamie took one of the clean cloths and soaked it in the goat’s milk for a moment before giving it to Willie to chew and suck on, taking the free end and tickling Willie’s belly with it then the abandoned toes.

She slipped out of the room and left Jamie to watch over his son in peace.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” Jamie whispered when they were alone again. “Ye’re always wi’ me when I need ye.” He could feel the warm weight of her in his chest, loosening the knot of fear over Willie’s fever as the boy yawned and the milk soaked cloth slipped out of his mouth. The wetness stuck to his nose as he tried to get it back into his mouth on his own. Jamie took it from him for a moment to soak it with more milk and then helped him find the tasty end again.

“Stay wi’ me, Sassenach,” he breathed. “Please? Stay till I’m sure.” He brushed his fingers over Willie’s forehead as his eyes closed. Repositioning Willie on the bed, Jamie took the cloths that had been used and slipped them into the small pan of warming water to be sterilized, grinning at the thought of the smile Claire would wear to see him following her instructions without argument. She would keep him company while he watched and nursed Willie. She would nudge him in the right direction until his son was well again, helping him protect Willie from whatever quack Lady Dunsany might send.


	5. Chapter 5

“Da!”

Jamie raised his head as Willie repeated the syllable in various volumes as Sabrina approached the field where Jamie had one of the work horses harnessed to the drum that spread manure.

For a moment his heart lurched as the sun dipped behind a cloud and Sabrina’s hair darkened. In another world he would be doing this at Lallybroch and it would be Claire coming to check on him with their bairn in her arms––though Claire would be sure to have a wee basket over her arm for her herbs as well.

He coaxed the horse to a stop and let the creature rest as he watched the wet nurse carry a squirming Willie closer. He pulled off the pair of gloves he wore while working and tucked them into the back waistband of his breeks; they could make it trickier to maneuver with the stiff fingers of his hand but it was easier to use them than worry about how filthy he was whenever he found a chance moment to see Willie during the day.

The little legs kicked and straightened as Willie’s arms reached for Jamie. The lad had mastered the art of pulling himself up to stand but any steps still required the assistance of adult hands or something solid to hold onto for balance. Jamie caught him under the arms and lifted him high, both father and son smiling and laughing in their customary greeting. Then Jamie settled Willie in his arms and kissed his forehead. Willie smacked his lips together and made a kissing sound to himself as he’d taken to doing in response.

Jamie turned to Sabrina as Willie started to pick at the sweaty collar of his worn shirt. The woman smiled but exhaustion and exasperation were written over her face.

“She was there again,” Sabrina said quietly.

Jamie bit his cheek as he reflexively clenched his teeth.

“He was just waking from his nap and I’d gone to get him some food. She was free with her opinions on your choosing to wean him so soon.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and rubbed Willie’s back. “Da?” the little voice asked until he looked down at him. Willie pointed at Sabrina who smiled. “Beena.”

“Aye, _mo chiusle_ ,” Jamie nodded and smiled. “I’ll be finished wi’ this field in another ten minutes. If ye dinna mind fetching me something to eat, I’ll meet ye down by the stables and we can see how Willie here likes it.”

Sabrina nodded and reached to take Willie from Jamie. Willie clung to Jamie and started to fuss. “Nononononono, Daaaaa.”

“It’ll be fine, lad,” Jamie coaxed. “Ye’ll want to watch me wi’ the horses later, aye? I need to finish here first. Can ye tell me what a horse says?”

“Neeeee,” Willie droned baring six little teeth––two on the top and four on the bottom––nestled in his gums.

“Tha’s right,” Jamie encouraged.

“And what about the cows?” Sabrina took over, drawing Willie’s attention away from Jamie and starting to walk back to the house.

“Ooooooo,” Jamie heard as he slipped his gloves back on and returned to his work.

He would need to find the right way to have a word with Dunsany about his wife and the way she was interfering with Willie; the other servants were starting to talk about her attachment to the lad and her mourning for Geneva was losing its effectiveness as a means of explaining it away. It had been over a year and they thought it a shame hadn’t found more comfort in her remaining daughter who was becoming a young woman in her own right and could do with more attention and guidance from her mother.

Sabrina was the one to suggest getting William out of the house more.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Jamie agreed. So Sabrina had taken to bringing William outdoors for walks when the weather permitted and to observe Jamie at work with the horses. As the boy grew and became more active, the question of who should watch him during the day began to grow as well.

“Lady Dunsany will want to provide you with a proper nursemaid for the boy,” Sabrina noted one evening. She had been corresponding with her sister in London who was expecting her fourth child and was trying to find a delicate way to ask for help.

“I’ll find a way,” Jamie frowned. “I dinna want to give her more influence on him if I can help it––not that I’m no grateful to her and Lord Dunsany both,” he added hastily, “but it willna do for Willie to grow accustomed to such things.”

“You mean to have him with you?” Sabrina’s question came slowly, the skepticism leaking from the pauses.

“I’ll find a way,” Jamie repeated with greater determination.

And as he went about his work in the following days, Jamie had examined his tasks and tried to think of ways he could have William about while he accomplished them. Jenny managed to run Lallybroch with only a little help and a flock of bairns about her; there had to be solutions that would work for him as well.

Having finished the field and brought the work horse back to the stable to rest and eat, Jamie slipped up to the loft where he’d stashed the pieces of his solution. He had them secured in place on a shaded patch of grass a short distance from the paddock fence where he’d be working with some of the younger horses during the afternoon.

Willie’s squeals drew Jamie over to help Sabrina as she struggled to carry both the child and a small basket of food.

Jamie deposited Willie into the small penned in area and then helped Sabrina spread out a blanket and the basket to see how Willie reacted to the constraints of his own paddock.

He crawled over to the small fence wall and peered through the gaps in the slats to see Jamie and Sabrina. Finding them, he giggled triumphantly and stuck his hand through to try and reach them. His senseless babbling got louder as he realized he couldn’t get to them. Jamie bit his lip nervously as Willie pulled himself up using the fencing until he stood and could peer over the top edge. “Da! Da-da,” he called, slapping the smooth wood with the flat of his hand. He became fascinated by the grain of the wood and started poking it with his finger, tracing the lines and following it to the corner where that first piece of low fencing joined to another.

Jamie watched the wall sway a little under Willie’s weight as he held to it for balance but the structure held and so far, Willie appeared to be safely contained.

“It works,” he declared quietly to Sabrina.

“Don’t speak too fast; it’s only a matter of time before he tries to climb it,” she warned then laughed at the look of fear and exasperation that crossed Jamie’s face at the thought.

“Beena, Beena, neeee!” Willie cried pointing to one of the horses that had come to investigate at the paddock fence.

Jamie got up and plucked a fistful of grass to bring over and offer the inquisitive mare. When he turned to look back at Willie, he noticed that the lad had bits of grass stuck to his lips and was pushing something around his mouth with his tongue.

“What do ye think ye’re doing, Willie?” Jamie asked. Willie stuck his tongue out and started spitting to rid himself of the blades of grass he’d attempted to eat. Unsatisfied with how long it was taking, he tried to claw them out with his dirty fingers and nearly gagged. Jamie picked him up and wiped the lad’s mouth with the cuff of his shirt. “It’s not so bad when ye’ve got the proper teeth for it but _you’re_ prone to wind enough wi’out tryin’ to digest grass––and ye can trust me on that as I’ve personal experience.”

He kissed Willie on the head before setting him back down in the enclosure, listening for the little smack of Willie’s lips in reciprocation.

“She’s not going to like it,” Sabrina reiterated. “ _But_ … I think we can work on getting Willie to adjust. You’ll need a way to carry him with you that will leave you with your hands free.”

“My sister used to carry a bairn strapped to her chest while she went about her kitchen but tha’ was when they were wee things. Willie willna keep still enough I dinna think,” Jamie frowned.

Sabrina’s brow furrowed. “Once he starts walking he’ll be able to help you with small tasks. As long as you’re mindful to his being there, the boy should do fine and not be too much underfoot. He’ll learn his place from you well enough, I imagine… You’re good with him and he responds to you.”

Jamie felt himself flush and ducked his head, fishing in the basket Sabrina brought for some bread and bringing it over for Willie to gnaw on instead of the wooden slats of his pen.

“Even if what ye say is true… I remember how much grief I gave my father wi’ gettin’ into trouble. Well-intentioned or no, I expect _you––_ my wee man––to be the same.”

Aware he was being talked about, Willie grinned broadly holding tight to the crust of his bread.

Looking down into the face of his smiling son, Jamie’s heart clenched with that bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. The child Claire had carried would be so much older than Willie by now, and yet, _once…_ once he––or _she_ ––had been this small, had smiled at Claire this way and held the promise of so much mischief in his––or _her_ ––eyes.

“What would Claire make of ye?” Jamie whispered as he reached out and brushed the brown locks from Willie’s forehead. As Willie held out the crust of bread for Jamie to share, he hoped that she would have loved the lad for his sake, for the comfort it gave Jamie every night to have the love of the lad close at hand.

“We’ll have it all figured out by the time ye’re needin’ to go to yer sister’s,” Jamie promised Sabrina. “And there’s naught Lady Dunsany can do to change my mind. I followed my da around to learn the business of a farm; Willie’s goin’ to do the same. What do ye say, _mo chiusle_? Do ye want to ken all there is to know about horses?”

“Neeee!”


	6. Chapter 6

Willie was excited as he retrieved extra blankets for Da and put them on the bed to be piled into the pack with their extra layers of clothes and the few crude toys he possessed. Da said that they’d done the same last year, Willie had just been too little to remember but now that he was four he’d be sure to remember for next year. 

“We’ve got to stop in the kitchen to see Cook and get some supper before we go over,” Da explained as he secured the pack and its contents. 

“How long’re we stayin’?” Willie asked. 

“As long as it takes the three mares to foal. It could be a day or two but it could be a week or more. It’s no up to us but we must be there to help them through it.” 

Willie nodded and led the way out of their room and down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen where Cook already had a basket waiting for them. 

“Mac,” she said warmly, dusting her flour covered hands on her apron before wiping at the sweat on her brow with the back of her hand. “Molly went to the market for me earlier today and while she was there she stopped in to see Widow March.” Cook shuffled over to the counter where some of the things Molly had retrieved for her remained in their basket. “The widow gave her this for you,” she pulled out a folded and sealed bit of paper and squinted at the direction above the smudge of wax before shrugging and holding it out for him. “She said it’s for you from that lass Sabrina what was wet nurse to your boy.”

Willie cocked his head as he watched Da take the paper, glance at it, and tuck it away in his shirt. 

“Thank ye,” Jamie said with a nod.

Cook frowned at him and briefly crossed her arms over her chest before realizing she was smearing the flour that still clung to her hands across the dark wool of her bodice. She grabbed a nearby rag that wasn’t a whole lot cleaner than her hands and used it to wipe at the smudges. “I’m supposing that there is her lettin’ you know she’s off to be wed again.” 

Willie watched Cook’s eyes watching Da even though her head was still directed down. The boy’s head whipped to follow the direction of Cook’s gaze and see what Da might do. 

“And what leaves ye wi’ that impression?” Da asked. 

“The Widow March were friends wi’ Sabrina’s late husband’s mother. It’s why she left it wi’ the widow knowin’ she’d find a way to get it to you. Shame if you ask me. All that time she was nurse to your boy and you just let her leave like that… Should have spoken up but it seems you’ve lost your chance.”

Da’s eyes narrowed and his mouth twitched but it was the kind of narrowing and twitching that meant Da was trying not to laugh, not the kind that meant he was angry but not in a position to say as much. 

“And ye thought  _ I _ ought to have…” Da trailed as his lips continued to twitch towards laughter.

“Married her, yes,” Cook pressed. “She was that fond of your boy and certainly seemed fond of you as well. I don’ know what you noticed of her when she was leaving but she seemed sorry to be leavin’ you two behind, of that I’m sure. She was a sweet lass and you’d have been lucky to have her.” 

Da pressed his lips together and nodded. “I cannae disagree wi’ a word of that but I dinna know that I’d have things other than they are now wi’ just me and Willie.” He grinned down at the lad and ruffled his hair until Willie laughed and reached up to shoo Da’s hand away. “Ye ken I was married once before,” Da continued, turning back to Cook. “I’ll never love another the way I loved my wife and I dinna think it would be right for me to wed a woman I loved less. It wouldna be fair to her.”

Cook made a strange face at Da before looking down at Willie. Da frowned and put a strong hand between Willie’s shoulder blades, guiding him towards the door leading out to the yard.

“Let’s go, Willie. We need to settle our things in before we can tend the horses and they’ll be impatient for their breakfast.”

Willie followed his father to the barn and waited at the bottom while Da carried their things carefully up the ladder. When everything was up in the loft, Da came back down and let Willie climb on his own following behind to catch him if he fell––he didn’t fall. 

There was one large pallet in the corner for the two of them to share and a smaller pallet along the opposite wall where one of the other grooms slept throughout the year. Da pulled out their blankets and started laying them out while Willie pulled his toys––a hand-carved horse Da had made him, a soft ball made of kitchen twine scraps wrapped around a wooden core and sewn tight up in burlap, and a small book of nursery rhymes that had been a gift from Lord and Lady Dunsany, just a little something they found when they were in London (Da had been quiet when they gave it to him but agreed with Lady Dunsany when she said that he ought to be taught his letters and informed Lady Dunsany that in fact, he had started teaching Willie to read and write several weeks earlier). 

“Da… Who was it Cook was talkin’ about? The woman who was wet?” Willie asked as he lay back on the pallet and tossed the ball into the air.

“Take care ye dinna miss and have that hit ye in the face,” Da warned. Willie only tossed the ball higher above his face. Da sighed and settled onto the pallet next to Willie watching carefully as the ball’s upward track slowed before dropping back toward Willie’s head. “Ye’d likely recall Sabrina if ye saw her again but it’s been near two years since she left the house to live wi’ her sister. She helped me to take care of ye when ye were a wee bairn.”

“And Cook says you should have married her?”

Da snorted. “Aye, I suppose that is what Cook said. But she didna ken Sabrina so well as I did nor does she ken me so well as she thinks either. I’m happy to hear Sabrina’s to be married but I’m no sorry it’s no to me.”

“Cause ye still love Mam, right?” Willie’s hand missed the ball and it hit him right between the eyes. He winced and Da pulled him upright pulling his hands away from his face so he could see the place where the ball had hit. 

“I hope that knocked a bit of sense into ye,” Da remarked as he set the ball off to the side. 

“You said ye never loved another woman like ye did yer wife,” Willie pressed, ignoring the incident with the ball. 

“I did say that and I meant it,” Da answered with a somber intensity. 

“What was she like?” Willie asked. He’d overheard speculation from some of the servants up at the house over the years about the kind of woman his mother had been but it had only occurred to him that morning that his father almost never talked about her. “Am I like Mam?”

Da sighed and leaned back against the wall of the barn, the straw in the pallet crinkling under his weight. He reached over and drew Willie to him, pulling him onto his lap and waiting for Willie to slump against him. 

“Ye have a bit of yer mother’s coloring,” Da started, resting a hand on his head and ruffling his hair. “And some of her spirit, too. Ye ken the way ye manage to get Cook and the kitchen maids to sneak ye extra bits of food when ye think I’m no looking? Yer mother had her own ways of gettin’ folk to do her bidding and a knack for finding trouble––though yer Auntie Jenny would say I have plenty of that to have shared wi’ ye myself.” 

“Did you marry here or was it back home in Scotland?” Willie had never seen Scotland but Da promised that someday they’d go back and he’d get to see Lallybroch. Willie had fallen asleep to stories of Lallybroch, the beauty of the land, the people who lived there, what things had been like before a war had changed it all. He didn’t understand it all––sometimes Da started telling one story but then change part way through and tell a different one instead. Maybe he’d understand when he was older. 

“I married in Scotland,” Da said quietly. “I didna know I’d be getting married until the day before––neither of us did. We neither of us had much choice in the matter.”

Willie lifted his head and stared in shock at his father. “You mean ye didna want to marry her?”

Da laughed. “Tha’s no what I said. I said I didna have much choice when I married. But I wanted to marry Claire verra badly. I didna tell her then––and no for a while after––but I loved her long before the day I married her. She was my choice whether it mattered or no. And by the time it mattered, she loved me too and chose me… my  _ Sassenach _ ,” he murmured quietly like he was talking to someone else though he and Willie were alone. 

“Sassenach? Mam was English?”

Da started and blinked before replying, “Aye. Yer mam was an English lass.” He braced himself against the wall and pushed back upright with a groan. “We canna be wasting the day up here. Let’s feed the horses, check on the mares, and then come back for a bite ourselves. Ye can bring yer book down to practice while I reshoe the horses Lord Dunsany wants to show the buyers next week.”

Willie let a small whine slip out before his father turned an impatient eye his way. “Can I help ye with the horses’ shoes instead of reading? I can do that later.”

“If ye read me a page, I’ll let ye hold the nails for me,” Da offered as a compromise. 


	7. Chapter 7

Jamie could smell her hair and it made his blood hum. He pressed his nose deeper into her curls so that it squished against her head. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, to pull her close but there was a small wiggling body wedged between them. Willie’s knees pulled up and unfortunately poised dangerously close to his groin; one wrong move, one disturbance to the lad’s slumber and Jamie knew exactly where those knees would end up.

He felt Claire laugh as she too noticed Jamie’s predicament. She reached down and gently rolled Willie so that he was turned towards her and Jamie’s balls were safe from any unconscious assault.

“Thank ye, Sassenach,” Jamie murmured to her, pressing his lips to her crown. “I miss ye. I ken it’s no right, I ken ye’re safer where ye are… but sometimes I think I’d trade everything for ye to come back to me.”

“Everything?” Claire asked, brushing Willie’s hair back from his brow and tucking it behind his ear.

Jamie jolted awake, reaching instinctively across the mattress until he found Willie’s small warm body, his legs dangling off the bed and his torso perpendicular to Jamie’s like he’d fallen asleep trying to sneak out in the night.

Taking a firm hold of Willie’s shoulders, Jamie pulled the boy back onto the bed properly and realigned him keeping him close. Before Jamie could drift off again, Willie stirred more forcefully and shrugged at Jamie’s hold on him.

“Iss hot,” he murmured sleepily, worming away from Jamie and kicking back at the covers.

“Sorry lad,” Jamie apologized, arranging the blankets so they wouldn’t smother Willie but also so he wouldn’t wake up chilled later.

Willie yawned and turned to face Jamie. He reached over and brushed the hair from Willie’s brow just as Claire had done in his dream. There were so many things he would trade to get Claire back but no, Willie wasn’t one of them. He wondered why the child Claire had carried wasn’t in the dream and tried not to feel its absence was some sort of omen. That child would be past fourteen now; far too old to be crawling into bed to cuddle with his parents. That child had possibly looked like Willie did so that the child in his dream might have been either or both. That child…

“Da… Is Mam dead or is she lost lost?”

“What do ye mean, wee man?”

“Well, Betty said that yer wife was lost…” Willie started, his sleepiness slipping further away with each word. “But Lady Dunsany told me my mam is dead…”

Jamie’s fist clenched reflexively under the blankets. He had put it off too long. He needed to let John Grey know that the time had come, that Lady Dunsany was overstepping the agreed-upon bounds of their arrangement. A quiet word and several more obvious hints to Lord Dunsany didn’t appear to have done any good. Would it be worth it to write to Grey in the morning or could it wait until his quarterly visit in a fortnight? Not enough could be set into motion before Grey’s visit and there was the awkwardness of trying to convey his meaning without Lord Dunsany realizing it when the man inevitably read the missive before sending it along. Best to wait and find a moment to speak to Grey alone––the younger man always seemed to manage arranging a private conversation when he visited.

Willie continued, “And then Cook said I showed up on the kitchen step in a basket one day wi’ a note sayin’ I belonged to ye.”

“Well… my wife is lost but no dead––I hope and pray––along wi’ the child she carried when I lost her… but she’s no yer mother,” Jamie tried to slowly and carefully explain to Willie who only blinked and frowned. “Ye see… she’s no exactly lost––I ken where she is––but I cannae get to her. Do ye remember about the fairies and how they have their hills wi’ stones atop in a circle?”

“They take folks through and put them into times no their own,” Willie answered reflexively. The Woman of Balnain was one of Willie’s favorite stories though Jamie was reluctant to tell it too often.

“My wife, Claire, she came to me through the stones from a time long into the future and when the war was lost… she was carryin’ a bairn and it was safer for them both to go back to the time she came from. So… I’m sorry Willie, but she’s no yer mother. I’m afraid yer mam is dead like Lady Dunsany said.”

“But the note she sent wi’ me didna say she was dead,” Willie pointed out, skepticism heavy and insistent in his voice. “And ye said yerself the fairies send folk to different times. How can ye be _sure_ she’s no my mam?”

The innocence and hopefulness of Willie’s question made Jamie want to burst out in both laughter and tears. Though Willie had seen several horses calve and even witnessed a stallion take a mare once or twice, the path between cause and effect hadn’t formed yet so it would still be some time before the lad realized the same principles applied to humans and how their bairns came about.

“Maybe… maybe somethin’ happened and Mam had to send me back through and I came out later’n she thought,” Willie posited then nodded having reached the conclusion he set out to find. “She’ll come back again, for both of us next time.”

Someday William would understand everything. Someday he would be old enough to hear about Geneva and how and why he’d been conceived. Someday he might not believe the truth of Claire and what she was or where she’d gone.

But for now he did and for now Jamie couldn’t and wouldn’t take it away.

“Aye, lad,” he whispered, resting his head against Willie’s so that the bridge of his nose aligned with the arch of Willie’s brow. “Maybe. Back to sleep wi’ ye now.”

“Did ye meet her _on_ the fairy hill? Did ye see her go when ye sent her back? Have ye met the fairies that did it?” Willie asked in a rapid stream.

Jamie answered with a loud and artificial snore, the vibrations of it in his chest shaking the small body beside him. Willie giggled and tried to imitate the noise sounding more like a wee piglet than anything.

Artificial sounds of bodily functions passed back and forth for a few minutes distracting Willie from his questions about Claire and leading him back to exhaustion.

With Willie asleep again at last, Jamie pressed a kiss to his forehead and settled onto his own side of the bed again. He was torn between fear and hope that when he closed his eyes he would see Claire again.

What would she _really_ make of William if she knew about him? Would she feel betrayed–– _probably_ , he thought, unable to even complete the silent question. Even if she gave him the time to explain, it would cause her pain to know… just as the thought of her simply raising their child with Frank made his fists clench, let alone the thought of her going to his bed or carrying–– _no_ , he shut that avenue of thought down before he could travel too far and lose himself in the dark and shiftless alleys.

Willie sighed in his sleep and rolled toward Jamie, reaching out and taking hold of the sleeve of his nightshirt.

If she met William, though… if she could see him and talk with him… she would fall in love with him too… wouldn’t she?

Jamie was certain of one thing, though: the lad was determined to love Claire and have her for his mother regardless of Claire’s opinions on the matter.

Of another thing he was fairly certain though his heart cried out for it not to be true: none of it mattered because Claire was never coming back.


	8. Chapter 8

Grey spotted Jamie and the boy as soon as he came into the yard. The boy had one of the horse brushes in hand but couldn’t reach the beast properly so Jamie had William around the waist and had lifted him so the boy could try his hand.

Jamie met Grey’s eye over the back of the horse and held it for a long moment before William drew his father’s attention and both broke into smiles and laughter.

Grey pulled his horse up short and watched them for a few moments more. There was something about the way both threw back their heads when they laughed, the way the light struck William’s hair giving it a washed out appearance…

“Shit,” Grey muttered under his breath as he set his horse to a walk and met Lord Dunsany standing with one of the other grooms near the side entrance of the house.

“John,” Lord Dunsany greeted him warmly before pulling him into the house and leaving his horse and pack to be tended. “I’m glad you came. This latest… Well, I got the impression that Mac might be getting ready to… take a step with you that I know my wife isn’t ready to accept. Indeed, not a week after I wrote you she devised a plan for the boy that I’m having no luck breaking her of. Mac has almost certainly heard of it by now and likely has refrained from speaking to me because he knew you were expected.”

“He wants his parole reassessed,” Grey guessed (though he knew if Jamie asked, he would enlist Hal’s influence in gaining a pardon for the man; several timely and important translations of intercepted documents had left the Crown somewhat indebted to the convicted Jacobite and Grey knew Jamie had likely only agreed to helping for this day when it would help him back). 

“I suspect so. Perhaps you can sway my wife away from her plan and help to ease the situation with Mac. It would be a shame to see William go and I’m afraid of what it might do to my wife’s spirits,” Lord Dunsany requested in a tone surprisingly close to begging. 

“I will see what I can do,” Grey promised.

They joined Lady Dunsany and Isobel in the parlor briefly before Grey was able to escape to his room to clean up and change from his ride. Isobel volunteered to show him up though he was given the same room on each visit and knew the way well.

She hesitated by the door as he began unbuttoning his coat and laid it on the bed to brush it out later.

“Do you think I’m old enough to marry?” she asked, surprising him. “I’m the same age Geneva was when she wed but Mama and Papa don’t seem to think I’m old enough. Or at least, nothing has been done about finding me a match.”

“Perhaps it is just that you are now their only child and they do not wish to part with you,” Grey suggested, stalling as he removed his neck cloth to put off getting further into the business of washing while Isobel stood watching.

“I think I should like to wed. I might be able to give my parents a living grandchild. You should see the way my mother dotes upon the groom’s little boy. He is a darling child but did you know, Mama wants to take on his education? Get him a tutor and treat him like a ward,” Isobel explained. “She needs someone to pay that kind of attention to and I am too old for it now… or too boring in my unmarried state.”

“Well, do you  _ want _ to marry? Is there anyone you would choose for yourself if given the chance?”

Isobel flushed. “I should like it to be someone closer to my age than Lord Ellesmere was to Geneva,” she confessed. “And someone familiar or comfortable, if possible, though… I suppose familiarity would come with time.”

Grey gave her an encouraging smile. “Then you are wiser than you realize and yes, I think you are certainly old enough to wed,” he told her. “But for your sake, I hope it is someone who appreciates you from the start and doesn’t require time to come to value you properly.”

Her flush deepened. “Thank you, John. I’ll see you at supper.” She finally left him to finish settling and and changing. 

Only arrived an hour past and the list of conversations to be had and delicate situations to maneuver was as long as his arm. 

Lady Dunsany appeared to be the source of most of the trouble so he made sure to dress quickly and go down to supper early. She was always the first ready and Lord Dunsany preferred to slip into the solitude of his study to await the meal, so Grey would have a brief window of privacy with the lady of the house. He was determined to make the most of it. 

“John,” she greeted him from her place at the window as he entered. “The room is to your liking, I hope?”

“Perfect, as always,” he assured her. He came to stand beside her so he could see what it was that had her attention though his gut told him he already knew.

Jamie sat hunched over on a stool that was too short for his tall and muscled frame. His knees came nearly to his ears whenever he bent forward, stick in hand, to draw something in the dust. William was on his knees with a stick of his own, struggling to copy the shapes on the ground. As Grey watched William, the boy’s tongue sticking out in concentration, he realized Jamie was teaching his son to read––or perhaps it was figures that had the boy’s brow furrowed like that (like Jamie’s did when he brooded over a chessboard contemplating his next move). 

“It’s a disgrace to see him so,” Lady Dunsany murmured quietly. “He should have a tutor and proper materials, not… sticks and stones like… like…” But her words failed her. “And Mac won’t consider moving back into the house with boy and winter coming on. I even offered him better rooms than before but he insisted the loft in the barn is warm enough with the horses below. I can’t imagine what it must be like with the smell.” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose as though she could smell it in the room despite the heavy perfume of hot house flowers in the air. 

William looked up at Jamie expectantly and laughed as a proud smile broke across his father’s face. Jamie’s arms shot out and he grabbed William under his arms, swinging him into the air. They could hear a childish scream of excitement muffled by the closed window. 

Lady Dunsany exhaled with exasperation. “I hate it when he does that.”

Grey thought he saw Jamie’s eyes land on the window where they stood watching. He must have known they were there and was familiar enough with Lady Dunsany at that point to guess what she thought.

Jamie spun the boy faster, his screams and shrieks of laughter getting louder.

Lady Dunsany huffed and turned away taking a seat and addressing Grey. “You need to speak with him, John, for Geneva’s sake. Her son should not grow up ignorant in the dirt.”

“Isobel tells me she has yet to formally come out,” Grey remarked, pointedly changing the subject to gauge the woman’s reaction. He was pleased to see that she became self-conscious. She wasn’t unaware of what her behavior and attitudes were doing to her surviving child then. Her grief, perhaps, and fear were making her unable to focus on anything but the boy she could not properly claim as her grandson. 

“And what is it you’ve been summoned here to do?” Lady Dunsany asked, ignoring his statement. 

“I wasn’t summoned,” Grey fibbed; he had been due for a visit in his role as supervisor of Jamie’s parole, after all. “MacKenzie’s situation has changed in the eyes of the Crown and the conditions under which he is kept here may change as a result as well. I need to speak with him about it as well as with your husband.” Another fib; the situation would only change if and when Grey set such a thing in motion. He would consider himself bound by honor to follow Jamie’s wishes and it might only be the fact that he hadn’t had a chance to speak to the man that was preventing that from being the case at the moment. 

Lady Dunsany froze while the color drained from her face.

“You can’t let him take our grandson from us,” she begged. “Talk to him. If he must leave, fine, but please don’t let him take William.”

Grey moved to sit beside the older woman. For a moment he contemplated taking her hand to comfort or calm her but decided she was more likely to take offense to such contact.

“I do not think you’ve thought through what such a gesture––or even what something like taking the boy as a ward––will do, not just to him but to you and your husband… and to Isobel. You only invite rumor and speculation that counteracts whatever good the arrangements you’ve made with Mr. MacKenzie have accomplished.”

“He deserves the best that we can give him,” Lady Dunsany emphasized. “What can the groom hope to do for him? Especially if he were to leave.”

“I’m privy to more of that information than you and I can assure you that William will be well educated and will not want in the ways that you fear.” His voice had dropped. Grey gave in to the earlier impulse and took her hand giving her a reassuring squeeze.

“You don’t understand…” she insisted. “He’s all that’s left of her.”

“I know. And not seeing him will be painful. But if Geneva had lived to raise him, how often would you have seen him––”

“You really think that fact makes any of this easier?” she snapped, pulling her hand from his and jumping from her seat to get away from him. 

Lord Dunsany opened the door to his study then to inquire as to the status of supper and Isobel’s footsteps sounded in the hallway moments later. 

And with that, Grey knew he would not speak with Lady Dusnany on the matter again.

* * *

Jamie knew it was only a matter of time before Grey found him. He thought it would be after dark and knew it would need to be private so he tried ushering Willie to bed early. But the lad was too perceptive for his own good and, not wanting to miss whatever the adults were going to talk about, had employed every trick in his arsenal to put off going to bed.

“I want to hear the story again,” Willie insisted. 

“I’ve just told it to ye twice.”

“Then tell me another,” Willie pressed. “The time ye saved her when they thought she was a witch… Or how ye met the king in France.”

Jamie frowned. “Ye ken I told ye we need to be careful what we talk of when there’s men of His Majesty’s army about––even if it’s only Major Grey.”

Willie nodded but wasn’t distracted from his point. “The witch one then. From when ye first saw Murtagh coming to fetch ye.”

Jamie sighed and began to set the scene as he always did––the hunting trip with an unsettled Dougal, an unusual Duke, and himself, longing to be warm in his bed at the castle with his wife to hold through the night.

“It sounds lovely,” Grey’s voice cut in from the doorway of the barn. “I can wait until you’ve finished…” 

“No,” Jamie said firmly, rising and swinging Willie up into his arms, carrying him to the ladder leading up to the loft. “To bed wi’ ye, wean,” he ordered. “And dinna even think of anything but crawlin’ ‘tween the sheets, sayin’ yer prayers, and waiting for sleep to take ye,” Jamie added sternly under his breath. 

Jamie watched as Willie’s shoulders heaved a sigh and turned to climb the ladder. 

“He can be a stubborn one,” Jamie remarked by way of an apology.

“Like his mother,” Grey agreed.

Jamie frowned at his own memories of Geneva’s stubbornness but the mention of his mother caught Willie’s attention. The lad turned so fast he nearly tumbled from the ladder in his over-tired state. 

“You remember my mam?”

Jamie carefully held his face in check as he looked to Grey.  _ Remember _ , Willie had said, not  _ knew _ . Had the other man caught the word or was he too focused on his own slip to notice?

“Your mother…” Grey fumbled, meeting Jamie’s eye sheepishly. “Yeeesss,” Grey continued slowly. “I do remember meeting her. She made quite the impression.”

“Can I feel your arm?” Willie asked eagerly.

“My…  _ arm _ ?” Confusion washed over Grey’s face. 

Jamie tried to step in. “To bed, William.”

“I wanna see if I can feel where ye broke it. I can on each of the fingers Da’s broken and his nose, though that one’s no hard.”

“How do you know about my arm?” Grey looked at Jamie accusingly.

“Mam set it for ye in the war,” Willie reminded the officer before doubt and a little fear crept into his face. He looked to his father, expecting a chastising but hoping for confirmation.

“Aye, he’s the one broke his arm. But I’ve told ye to go to bed several times now…”

Willie gulped. “G’night to ye, sir. G’night, Da,” he rattled off before hastily making his way up the ladder to the loft.

“Can we talk outside?” Jamie requested. “Inquisitive ears…”

The yard was empty and the sky dark, the sun having sunk some time before leaching color from the world as it went. They leaned against the outside wall of the barn gazing across the yard toward the house. 

“You told him about our meeting during the war,” Grey stated. Jamie could hear the surprise in Grey’s voice but wasn’t sure he wanted to try naming what was paired with it. 

“Casts ye in a better light in Willie’s eyes than telling him ye were my jailor,” Jamie explained with a shrug. Willie knew he’d fought in the Rising, that he’d been to prison. But he didn’t completely comprehend why they lived at Helwater––it was all he’d ever known, after all. There were things about his past that Willie was still too young to hear. He told himself that was why he indulged Willie’s desire for stories about Claire, why he’d given up the idea of forcing that truth on the lad until he was older and better able to understand. “He likes stories and there arena so many he’s old enough to hear.”

“Am I correct in understanding he believes your late wife is his mother? What the bloody hell have you been telling him?” Grey demanded, his voice low but insistent.

“I told him what I could of the truth and he’s made something of it that comforts him,” Jamie snapped. “He’s convinced my wife was taken by the fairies and that he’s the bairn she carried when I lost her. I’m not about to take that idea from him when the truth…” He broke off sharply, his indignation and desire to justify himself nearly carrying him too far. 

It didn’t matter.

“What did she do to convince you to take such a risk?” Grey asked. “What did she offer you to get you into her bed? Or was she inducement enough?”

Jamie clenched his jaw as though refusing to answer might successfully deter Grey.

“The boy looks more like you every time I see him and I know Geneva was worse than a dog with a bone when there was something she wanted. She would do anything––”

“Well in my case it was threats and blackmail and it’s all the more reason I’d have Willie think his mother was a kind and gentle woman I loved more than my own life,” Jamie said quickly to stop Grey talking. He felt his cheeks warm as the confession he’d made sunk in. The growing darkness was a relief in that moment. I dinna ken why exactly ye’ve come just now but there is something I would speak to ye about.”

“I’ve spoken with Lady Dunsany and I don’t expect she’ll let this idea of hers go anytime soon.”

Jamie ground at the dirt beneath the toe of his boot creating a growing depression. “I see…”

“I have… That is… I’ve tried to… prepare her…” Grey struggled to find the right words but gave up with a sigh. “I’ve decided to speak with my brother about quietly seeking a pardon for you… with the Crown. I know it’s what you want and I’m afraid of what keeping the boy here longer might do. Everyone expects him to look like you except Lord and Lady Dunsany. It will pain them to see him go but I’m convinced it’s what’s best for everyone in the end.”

Jamie blinked while he let the words sink in. He’d be able to go home. To Scotland. With Willie.

“I… thank ye, sir.”

“John,” Grey said with a pained laugh. “If I do this you’ll no longer be under my supervision and you must promise to call me John then––if you don’t, I might change my mind.” But the threat was a hollow one. 

“As ye please then…  _ Lord _ John.”

Grey scoffed but smiled as he glanced at Jamie.

“It will be a while yet before anything goes through. I will tell Lord Dunsany the broad outlines of what’s going to happen to help him prepare his wife… I already hinted at it to her before supper.”

“Took it well, did she?”

“I have another idea I think I’ve settled on that will help to distract her when the time comes… I’m going to speak with Lord Dunsany about courting––and later marrying––Isobel.”

Jamie choked back what he thought at first was a laugh but actually sounded more like a strangled gasp. 

“Wh––why?” he managed to ask.

“She wants to be married to please her parents but is nervous about it and leaving them. I… have family of my own that would like to see me wed and with my position in His Majesty’s army, there’s little need for my wife and I to live together––little opportunity if I get sent to the continent,” Grey rambled.

“But ye… Can ye… That is… would it truly be fair to the lass?” It was Jamie’s turn to have difficulty finding the right words.

“She needn’t accept me,” Grey insisted as though he were half hoping that would be the case. “There is one more thing I need you to promise me if I am to appeal on your behalf… and it isn’t that you call me by my Christian name…”

Grey looked to Jamie seeking the promise before offering the terms.

Jamie crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Grey to continue.

“I need you to promise me that you will keep me appraised of how the boy fares; that you will permit me to visit and see him when circumstances allow. I think it will go a way towards reassuring the Dunsanys.”

Jamie thought on it for a moment but the prospect of what might happen if a British officer were to stop at Lallybroch for an extended, friendly visit was too difficult to manage. There would be time to decide the particulars later––if and when he had his pardon from the Crown.

“Ye’d best go back inside,” Jamie suggested. “Ye can give yer report to Lady Dunsany that Willie’s on to learning a bit of Latin if ye think she’d believe that a mere groom kens it to teach his son.”

Grey let the remark pass without comment but pushed himself off the side of the barn where he’d been leaning and turned to face Jamie. 

“Good night… MacKenzie.”

“Good night to ye, Lord John.”

Grey walked away and Jamie went inside and climbed the ladder.

Willie had tried to stay awake to question his father at the end of his informal meeting but the lad had fallen asleep sitting up against the wall, his chin resting against his chest and his hair loose and falling in a curtain to shade his face.

Jamie moved Willie to his cot. He wouldn’t tell Willie anything about being able to go to Scotland until he had that pardon in his hand but Jamie couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he did tell him… or when he first looked down into the valley to see Lallybroch safely nestled there… or when he met Jenny, Ian and the bairns…

Jamie fell asleep quickly, his day dreams pulling him under to a Lallybroch where he carried Willie on his shoulders and Claire was there to meet him at the gate.


	9. Chapter 9

It was dark when they arrived. Jamie held Willie steady across the chest while the lad’s weight leaned heavily against his abdomen. It might have been wiser to stop and make camp for the night rather than press on and risk falling off the horse or losing a shoe, but they’d been so close and Willie deserved to sleep under a proper roof in a proper bed with a proper fire in the hearth. The lights of Lallybroch in the distance urged him onward, a flame luring a weary moth. 

The yard was understandably empty as he reined in and fumbled to shift the balance of Willie’s dead weight enough to allow himself to dismount without dropping the lad to the ground. His feet firmly planted, he draped Willie’s arms around his neck and got a secure hold of him under his legs. No one from the house had heard him arrive causing Jamie to wonder just how late it was and whether he ought to bother rousing someone or should take Willie to the barn. He was weary enough at that point to no longer care if the bed was full of feathers or simply a coat laid down upon straw, he and his son needed rest. 

He decided to at least try the door but found it bolted. Turning and steeling himself for the return trip down the steps––Willie growing heavier and heavier with each passing breath––Jamie nearly dropped the lad when he heard familiar footsteps on the other side of the thick, bolted door… or rather the sound of one foot and one wooden leg. 

“Jamie?” Ian asked a few moments later, keeping his voice low as he peered around the door into the night.

“Aye, man, will ye let me in?” Jamie responded gruffly. 

Ian pulled the door open wider and held it while Jamie shuffled in and to the main hall where he lay Willie down on the sofa. Willie wriggled into the cushions then sighed deeply. Jamie brushed the hair back from his forehead and moved back toward the door. Ian stood still holding it open, his eyes fixed on the sofa where Willie slept. 

“Ye’re fine if I leave him there while I tend the horse?” Jamie asked, snapping Ian to attention. 

“I doubt ye’ll be able to sway the beast,” Ian remarked with a growing smile. “Ye look dead on yer feet. I’ll fetch Fergus to tend him. You go on and have a sit down for now. Rest a bit but dinna drift too far off if ye can help it. I dinna want to be wakin’ ye but I’ll have some word out of ye before releasin’ ye to yer bed.”

Ian pushed the door shut but not all the way closed then made his way to the kitchen. 

Jamie dropped into a seat near the fire and stretched his cramped legs toward the forgiving heat. Just as he was lulled into letting his head fall back to rest against the back of his chair, Fergus came rushing into the room with a grin on his face. 

“Milord!” he exclaimed in a loud, hissing whisper.

Jamie smiled at the lad who was no longer a lad. Fergus had grown more than a foot in height but not at all in bulk so that he looked scrawnier than ever. He used the hook on his left hand to scratch habitually at the back of his right hand. 

With an effort, Jamie pushed himself to his feet and strode forward to embrace Fergus. 

“Fergus,  _ mon fils _ . Ye were already a man when I left,” Jamie murmured pulling back, “but now ye’ve finally grown to look the part as well.”

Ian came to join them and at the sound of him clearing his throat, Fergus started to retreat to the front door.

“I will tend your horse, Milord, and then you will tell me about the brother you have brought me,” Fergus said with a nod to Willie on the sofa. 

Ian sat in the chair next to the one Jamie had abandoned. “Will ye wish to wait for the lad to return or are ye willing to tell the tale twice?” Ian asked. He reached for a decanter of whisky and offered it to Jamie. 

“Ye mean three times, don’t ye? There’ll be Jenny pullin’ it from me come morning,” Jamie muttered taking the decanter and pouring a finger each for Ian and himself before plopping back into the warm and inviting chair. 

“She’ll be down wi’ the commotion in a few more minutes, I’m sure,” Ian predicted.

“Sorry to have come so late,” Jamie apologized. “Couldna bear the thought of making camp when we were so close.”

Ian held up his hand and shook his head. “Ye’ve nothing to apologize for. We’ve been keepin’ an eye for ye three days past though we all kent ye’d no be likely to arrive sooner than tomorrow.”

Jamie smiled. “Willie did better on the road than I expected. He chattered away as we crossed through the north of England but as soon as we passed into Scotland he fell silent and couldna stop gapin’ round him. He didna want to stop till he was near to fallin’ off the horse each night.”

He felt Ian’s steady gaze boring into him as he watched Willie slumbering a few feet away. Jamie raised the whisky to his lips and downed what was left, using the glass to obscure his face. Ian wouldn’t push for his own sake but to spare Jamie the frustration of Jenny’s pointed and cutting questions, he might. 

Ian’s attention suddenly shifted to the stairway where Jenny was rapidly descending right on schedule. 

“Jamie,” she breathed, smacking into him and wrapping her arms around him before he’d fully risen to his feet. “Welcome home, brother.” She released him and pushed him back into his seat so he didn’t tower over her so much. “And a damn good thing too,” she couldn’t help scolding. “If ye’d never come back and the last I’d seen of ye was the Redcoats cartin’ ye away, I’d never have forgiven ye for it.”

He half-laughed unable to summon the energy to do it properly. “Well, if ye’d refused the reward money that came wi’ turning me over  _ I’d _ never have forgiven  _ you _ for it, so we’re even.”

“Not as I see it,” she went on approaching Willie on the sofa, leaning on the carved wooden arm to peer down at him. “Ye’ve brought me a nephew and I’ve no more of the like to offer ye––mind, I’ve a few grandchildren ye’re great-uncle to that might balance it out. Ye said his mam was English?”

“Is there a bed where I can settle him properly?” Jamie asked. “I’d rather no talk about it wi’ him lyin’ right there.”

“There’s the room direct across from the landing at the top of the stairs ye can use tonight,” she told him. “Needs a fire lit but shouldna take long to warm and the bedclothes are fresh enough.”

“Thank ye.” Jamie rose again, unsteady on his feet due to the combination of whisky and exhaustion but he made it to the sofa. He inelegantly lifted Willie and slung him over a shoulder, wrapping an arm around the lads legs as the two limp arms hung down his back. 

Climbing the stairs was a greater feat than ascending a mountain. Jamie nudged the bedclothes aside triumphantly and then nearly dropped Willie onto the mattress. Rearranging the sprawling body so there would be room for himself as well, Jamie glanced around the dark room. Moonlight filtered dimly through the window. If he wanted a fire he would need to fetch a candle to light the rush and start the blaze but having found solitude once more, he was reluctant to give it up. It couldn’t be more than half an hour since his arrival and the press of his family and their questions was already beginning to feel oppressive. 

He needed sleep. It would be easier to face it in the morning. He didn’t want to leave Willie alone in a strange bed in a strange room. What if the lad should wake confused with Jamie not there to calm and reassure him? 

Jamie stretched out on the bed beside Willie. They were expecting him to return––well, Jenny and Fergus would expect him to return but he was confident that Ian knew the moment for an immediate and unfiltered explanation had passed. 

Closing his eyes and pulling the blanket over himself and Willie, Jamie let himself give in to the oblivion of sleep. His sister’s questions would at least keep till morning. 


	10. Chapter 10

“Da…” Willie’s voice hissed in Jamie’s ear. Jamie fought his way to the surface of sleep but not fast enough for Willie. He started poking Jamie’s cheek. “Da…” he said again, louder. Jamie was just opening his eyes when he felt Willie’s knee connect with his side. It wasn’t a strong blow but unexpected enough to make him jolt and curse under his breath.

“What Willie?” he asked, exasperated.

Willie didn’t seem to notice his father’s frustration.

“Are we here?” he asked quietly.

Jamie choked out, “Yes, lad. We’re here.”

There was some shifting from Willie’s side of the bed and then the blankets were pulled away. Cool air rushed in raising goosebumps.

“I wanna see Lallybroch,” Willie exclaimed as he tugged on Jamie’s arm to get him going.

“All right, lad, all right,” Jamie yawned and pushed himself up. “Let’s see if yer Auntie Jenny has some parritch ready for breakfast.”

Jamie grabbed Willie beneath the arms and swung the boy up onto his shoulders before ducking to get through the doorway without knocking Willie in the head.

Willie gasped as they made their way through the hall and down the stairs.

“It’s almost as big as Helwater,” Willie said as Jamie ducked again to get into the kitchen. “But not as fancy.”

“What’s not fancy?”

Jamie turned to see a boy of eight or nine at the table with a bowl of parritch in front of him and a befuddled expression on his face.

“And who might _you_ be?” Jamie asked, peering at the lad down the bridge of his nose.

The lad gave him a look that Jamie had seen a thousand times on his sister.

“I thought I heard Mam say that ye were back, Uncle Jamie—ye _are_ my Uncle Jamie, no?”

“I ken ye’re no wee Jamie and I dinna think ye’re old enough to be Michael, either,” Jamie addressed the lad. “If ye’re young Ian Murray as I suspect, then aye, I’m yer Uncle Jamie. And this here is yer cousin, Willie.” Jamie lifted Willie over his head and set him down on the seat beside Ian.

“There ye are, brother,” Jenny said as she entered the kitchen from the back door, a basket under her arm with eggs from the chickens. “Thought ye said ye would be back down last night.”

“I was tired. Didna even get my breeks and stockings off before I was snoring,” Jamie said lightly as he held his sister’s dissatisfied gaze. “Willie, this is yer Auntie Jenny.”

Willie’s cheeks went red as the stern woman’s attention turned on him then softened. He nodded, “Au-auntie Jenny.”

“Welcome home, then, Willie. Ye must be hungry.” She set the basket of eggs on the counter and grabbed a spare bowl, filling it from the pot of parritch still set near the hearth keeping warm. “When you lads are through wi’ yer breakfast, Ian will show ye around a bit and introduce ye to yer other cousins.”

Willie blinked at Jenny before looking to Jamie with confusion for confirmation.

“Actually, Jenny, _I_ want to be the one to show him Lallybroch,” Jamie told her as he crossed to grab a bowl for himself. “I’ve only been telling him about it since he was a wee bairn in my arms.” He held her gaze as he lifted a spoonful of parritch to his mouth.

“Of course, brother,” she replied with a strained smile. “I was only hoping you and I could have some time to ourselves to catch up. I suppose ye might manage to make time later, aye?”

Jamie pushed the parritch around in his mouth and simply nodded.

* * *

Jamie had forgotten how many memories of Claire lingered in the nooks and crannies of Lallybroch. It was difficult to remember she’d lived there with him for little more than a year. Even after fifteen years, he half-expected to turn the corner and see her in her herb garden or taking wash down from the line. The onslaught of memories made him quiet as he fought to master the lump that rose in his throat, to overcome the tightness in his chest.

Willie didn’t notice much. He was busy prattling away about how the reality of Lallybroch compared to how he’d envisioned it from his father’s stories. He was shy around his new cousins and his uncle and aunt but he wouldn’t last long in the face of young Ian’s determination to drag him into his schemes. The youngest Murray was thrilled to have someone around who was younger and would look up to and admire him.

Jenny stopped asking about Helwater and Willie’s mother after the first few days and instead began dropping hints about some of the widows in the area.

“The widow MacKimmie has two lasses,” Jenny said as she salted and set aside fresh meat Jamie was hacking off a deer’s carcass. “Her youngest isna much older than yer Willie. I’m sure she’d make a fine mother for the lad.”

“I’m no remarrying, Jenny,” Jamie told her flatly, the fall of the cleaver punctuating the sentiment. “Willie and I are fine on our own.”

Jenny scoffed. “Ye’re better than ye were livin’ in that cave—I’ll grant ye that—but ye’re still a long way from ‘fine,’” she opined. “And it’s the lad I worry for. Ye didna say much in yer letters but it’s clear he’s never had a mother’s care and that’s something every child ought to know.”

“He’s _fine_ ,” Jamie insisted. “If he hasna had it at least he’s been saved the pain of having it and losing it… Ye ken he’s no much younger than I was when Mam passed.”

Color flooded Jenny’s cheeks and she said no more that day.

But a few days later Jamie saw Ian waiting to help him mend the water wheel at the mill; he’d been expecting Young Jamie. From the look on his brother-in-law’s face it was clear that Jenny had sent him.

Jamie set his tools on the ground next to the fresh boards that would replace the ones that had rotted away.

“If ye came with a list of widows Jenny’s compiled for me to choose a bride, ye can toss it in the burn and save yerself the trouble,” Jamie advised.

“Why is yer Willie telling my Ian that _Claire_ is his mother?” Ian asked.

Jamie froze. “He’s… an imaginative lad… I’ve told him about Claire and how I lost her… that she was carrying a bairn. It’s a… misunderstanding—one I mean to let him correct on his own as he gets older and understands the world more. Soon as he’s learned more arithmetic he’ll figure it out.” Jamie shrugged but Ian hadn’t missed the sorrowful note in Jamie’s voice as he talked of that future day.

“Ye dinna think the lad will want to ken about his _real_ mother? That he’ll not be upset to learn ye’ve let him go on thinking… What are _you_ thinking, Jamie? Ye moved on enough to father a child by another lass. I’d have thought that yer mourning for Claire was…”

Jamie’s feet brought him dangerously close to Ian, startling his friend. “Moved on? Ye think one night with another woman is enough to make me forget?”

Ian stepped back, his brow furrowed with confusion. “I think there’s more to what happened than ye’ve told us so far… and I think ye ought to tell it— _not_ because I’m curious or going to judge ye… Whatever it is, it’s eating ye up, Jamie.”

Jamie realized he was trembling and blinked twice before closing his eyes to focus on controlling the shaking. “I… dinna correct Willie… because… I’d rather… _believe_ along with him. I’d rather… _pretend_ that Claire… I dinna want to think of his real mother when I look at him. I’d rather think of Claire and the mother she’d have been to him—the kind of mother he _deserves_ … I dinna want him thinking… that I dinna want him or love him because he learns that I didna love his mother.”

“Who was she?” Ian asked gently.

“It doesna matter. She’s dead,” Jamie informed him.

Ian’s look remained one of concern.

With a sigh of resignation, Jamie walked over to the side of the mill and leaned against the wall.

He told Ian everything—about Geneva, about the arrangement with the Dunsanys, about how and why he left Helwater. All he held back was the truth about Claire and the stones. Ian listened silently. His eyes went wide every so often and his head was bobbing with understanding by the time Jamie finished.

“Tell Jenny,” Jamie said when Ian remained speechless after he was done, “so long as I dinna have to speak of it again nor listen to her talk of my remarrying.”

“Aye… I’ll do that. And neither of us’ll say anything to Willie. But… someone is bound to say something to the lad if he goes about talking of Claire like that. It’s been some time but folk hereabouts remember her. It’s only a matter of time before he learns the truth… and that’s something that would be best coming from _you_ ,” Ian insisted, his eyebrows raised for emphasis.

Jamie nodded but said nothing. They let the matter drop and moved on to fixing the water wheel.

* * *

Jenny didn’t say anything further but every day Jamie could feel the weight of the truth in the air between them. It made him incredibly self-conscious when he and Willie were in company. Whatever relief he’d felt in those moments following his revelation to Ian had been swept away by the strain of waiting for someone to criticize Willie’s understanding of his parentage and open his eyes to the truth—a truth his father had been keeping from him.

Lallybroch wasn’t the relaxing refuge he’d imagined it would be all those years at Ardsmuir and Helwater. What he and Willie needed was a true fresh start—the kind of clean break that could only come from being in a place where no one knew or cared what your past might be, where only the present and what you could contribute now mattered.

He took Willie and left for Edinburgh before Hogmanay.


	11. Chapter 11

There was ink smudged on Willie’s chin and across the bridge of his nose. The tips of his fingers were permanently stained black because no matter what Jamie used to clean the type, it never removed all the ink from the crevices. Willie’s fingers were tiny and deft enough to make quick work of setting each page, his mind young and pliant enough not to stumble over having to work backwards and with mirror images, his eyes young enough for the strain of black ink on blackened type. 

Jamie’s finger moved back and forth from the printed page before him to the manuscript in his hand. 

“The letters are all in the correct places,” he told his son, “but there’s a ‘Y’ in the fourth line that doesna appear to be strikin’ well. Can ye replace it and put the old one in the box for melting down?”

“Aye, Da,” Willie said looking carefully to where Jamie pointed on the page to the defective letter and counting carefully how many letters deep and what letters were to either side. Then he scurried to the letter tray and went back to work.

Jamie watched to be sure the lad didn’t hurt himself as he climbed onto a stool next to the machine and bent to his task, pinching the old letter out and holding its space open long enough to replace it with the new. 

The bell in the shop rung and Jamie heard Geordie muttering to himself about the hassle and inconveniences, that he’d just as soon trust the pope himself as he would—

“Christ, Geordie!” Jamie exclaimed as he gathered the import of the young man’s complaining. “Ye’d better not come in here wi’ Mr. Macrannoch’s order still in yer hands.”

Geordie loudly set the parcel on the counter outside the doorway for Jamie to hear. Grinding his teeth, he turned. “Willie.” The lad looked up with the tiny, defective ‘Y’ clutched tight in his fist. “Clean yerself up, lad. I’m goin’ to need ye to make a delivery for me.”

Willie scrambled down and scampered toward the wash basin in the corner, stopping to change course briefly on his way when he remembered he needed to put the faulty letter into the bin for recasting. 

Geordie came through the doorway a moment later, his face already red from having worked himself up to face Jamie. The two men began speaking at each other, their voices rising steadily for dominance. 

“It’s a simple delivery. I cannae fathom why it is ye never manage to make them in the one trip, especially when ye complain so much about the trouble of goin’ in the first place.”

“I refuse to be responsible for making deliveries to folk as refuse to pay for their purchase and I’ll no be the one to entrust it to any but him that ordered it.”

“It’s easy enough for a wee lad to do it and him barely seven. That a grown man cannae take orders…”

“I tell ye, Old Mister Campbell never ran the business in such a manner. It doesna seem right, you printing under his name like this and no managing it as he would ha’ done. Dishonest. Besmirchin’ his good name wi’ yer absurd ways.”

“Either ye make me up yer wasted time by going to fetch the supply of charcoal and paper across town, or walk out that door and dinna bother coming back!”

Geordie glared at Jamie, his face red and straining like the skin of an apple fit to burst with over-ripeness. He turned and walked back out through the shop, the bell above the door adding its loud opinions as he walked down the street. 

Jamie had no idea whether or not Geordie would come back. 

The darkest spots of ink had been cleared away from Willie’s hands and forearms but the dark tinge left behind made his fingers and hands appear bruised. Jamie reached for a cloth nearby that he dipped in a special oil before rubbing at the smudges on Willie’s face. The lad wrinkled his nose but otherwise submitted. 

When Jamie was through, he directed Willie’s steps into the shop.

“Is Geordie gone for good?” Willie asked as Jamie examined the wrapped parcel of fliers on the counter. 

“I dinna ken and I’m no sure I care.”

“Cause he’s an incompetent arse?”

Jamie laughed before he could prevent himself. 

“It’s what Old Mister Campbell always said,” Willie asserted, uncertain why his father was laughing. 

“Aye, Old Mister Campbell did say that and though I dinna want ye repeating it, Old Mister Campbell wasna wrong. Now, Willie, I need ye to take these to Mr. Macrannoch up the end of the way. Ye ken the place?”

“The green door wi’ the fancy knocker on the front?”

“That’s the one but ye’re to go to the side door near the back. One of the man’s servants will let ye in and ye’re to give them a message from me. Tell them Mr. Macrannoch can come to settle his bill next week or I’ll stop by sometime if that would be more convenient and dinna forget to say that we appreciate his business. Can ye say that back to me?”

Willie parroted the message three times, then Jamie gave him the parcel to carry and led him to the door.

“Dinnae dally on yer way back,” Jamie warned. “I’ll be needin’ yer help wi’ the next page soon.”

“I’ll no get lost, Da,” Willie promised before hurrying out into the street.

“That’s no what I’m worried about,” Jamie said quietly as he watched Willie go. The street wasn’t very crowded at that time of day, most people having arrived at their main destinations for the day or having already completed their errand runs. And though Willie was still young, Jamie had seen younger lads making deliveries about the city and knew how proud Willie was when he was allowed to demonstrate how grown and responsible he’d become. 

Jamie was confident Willie would be all right, even if his chest grew tighter with each step Willie took down the road. Only when Willie’s dark head disappeared from sight did Jamie sigh and return inside. 

* * *

Claire stood in the street looking at the sign telling herself not to get her hopes up too much. It was only a chance that Mr. Campbell would remember or know where to find the man who had written an essay months earlier. And even if the printer  _ did _ remember Alexander Malcolm, that was no guarantee Jamie had given the man correct information in anything else—he’d been using a false name, after all, and with good reason given the essay’s seditious nature.

The only thing Claire  _ was _ certain about was that Jamie had penned the essay Roger found. That, and that she needed to find Jamie—see him again, talk to him again. She wouldn’t be able to go back to living her life with even the barest level of contentment unless she tried everything. 

She closed her eyes to take a deep breath and say a silent prayer before crossing the street and pushing open the door. 

“Mr. Campbell?” Claire called when she realized the front of the shop was empty.

“I’m afraid Mr. Campbell sold the shop more’n a year back,” a voice responded from the room behind the counter. 

Footsteps grew louder as Claire’s stomach tightened and she felt light headed, her body processing information faster than conscious thought. 

“Folk kent the shop and the name of Campbell so I kept it but you can call me—”

“Jamie?” Her voice was barely a gasp. As soon as he appeared in the doorway and saw her, he froze and went deathly white. 

“Claire?” His voice broke and he looked about to faint. 

“What are you doing here?” Claire blurted.

“I’m where I’m supposed to be,” Jamie retorted reflexively. “Ye’re the one who went away.”

“And you’re back from the dead,” she argued back before she could think of what she was saying—of what  _ he _ was saying. When she did, she second guessed the shock on his face and asked sheepishly, “Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he replied without hesitation.

Relief flooded through her and they moved toward each other, only hesitating again at the last possible moment. 

“How did ye find me?” Jamie asked, raising his hand but leaving it hovering, afraid to move the last bit to touch her.

She lifted her hand to meet his and wove their fingers together pressing her palm to his. “I had help from a friend of our daughter,” she told him, grinning as the words sank in and wonder bloomed across his face. 

“Our daughter?”

Claire nodded. “Brianna. I’ve brought pictures with me so you can see her.”

Claire released Jamie’s hand to rummage through her pocket for the plastic-wrapped photographs. She had taken great care in choosing which to bring and had dug around to find the negatives, ordering new copies made so Brianna wouldn’t miss the originals. 

She handed the stack to Jamie who gasped at the sight of Brianna as a newborn wrapped snugly in her blankets and slumbering in Claire’s arms. The stack of photos shook in his hand and his face began to crumple. 

“She’s beautiful, Claire,” he murmured, his grip loosening. Most of the photos fell to the floor. Jamie sniffled and his face went red when he bent to retrieve them. 

“Let me,” Claire interjected. “I had them in a specific order.”

Jamie gathered and handed them to Claire to set right. 

“She’s well then?” he pressed. “She knows? She has friends?”

Claire smiled and nodded, pride shining through. “She knows now,” she explained. “Bree doesn’t understand it all, but she knows and she believes. And… she sent me with something else for you.”

Jamie’s eyes went wide but he shut them when Claire stepped closer and pressed her lips to his warm cheek. She lingered when done and let her cheek graze his as she pulled back and briefly met his eye. 

His hand reached for her cheek and when she nodded, he bent to bring his lips to hers. The kiss started light and gentle but hunger and need took over and they pulled each other closer, pressed themselves against each other harder. 

Breaking the kiss at last, Jamie chuckled, low and with a ring of satisfaction. “I suppose only the first was from the lass,” he said quietly. “The rest was perhaps yer own inclination?” There was a dash of sorrow mingling with hope in his voice, the question genuine. 

“Indeed,” Claire confirmed. “You appear to be similarly inclined.”

“Aye, though we’ve much to speak on and should likely continue wi’ that first,” he conceded, pressing his forehead to hers. “I want ye to tell me all about Brianna.”

Claire smiled with tears in her eyes and turned her focus back to correcting the order of the photos still in her hands. 

The bell above the door chimed. 

“Dinna be angry, Da,” a young boy exclaimed as he burst into the shop. “They didna give me the money but they asked me to stay a few minutes and the cook gave me a bit of bread and—” The boy noticed Claire standing next to Jamie. He blinked in surprise and then shock and recognition illuminated his face. 

A different brand of shock and recognition answered in Claire’s glass features. 

“Mam!” he cried and launched himself at a paralyzed Claire, wrapping his arms around her hips. 

She looked to Jamie who had gone pale and couldn’t hide the panic in his eyes. 

Claire felt like she might be sick as she glanced first at the black-and-white photo of Brianna on top of the stack and then to the young boy’s excited face staring up at her from her waist. 

He looked just like Brianna. 


	12. Chapter 12

The photo of Brianna was one of Claire’s favorites. She must have been six. She’d run out to meet the postman before he could carry his small pile of letters to their box. Brianna handed him their outgoing bills and carried the new mail triumphantly into the house. Claire had been tickled by the pride Brianna took in that brief display of independence and had reached for the camera to document that self-assured look. The moment promptly became better when it turned out one of the envelopes she held contained Claire’s acceptance letter into the surgical program she desperately wanted. 

That look of triumph and pride was what the little boy clinging to her wore as he looked up and called her, “Mam,” again.

“I always kent ye’d come back for us, whatever else Da said.”

“Willie,” Jamie croaked, stepping forward and gently removing the boy’s arms from around her waist. “Dinna overwhelm her and dinna get her filthy. Go on back and wash up a bit,” Jamie instructed.

Willie looked at Jamie with confused disappointment and more than a little offense.

“Da, I washed before ye sent me to Mr. Macrannoch’s,” Willie protested.

“And the streets of Edinburgh are filthy. Wash again and leave us to have a word to ourselves. There’s a good lad.”

Claire noted the strain in Jamie’s voice and the color in his face as he urged the boy out of the room.

Willie left reluctantly. As soon as he was out of sight, Jamie grabbed Claire’s wrist and squeezed it desperately.

“Please, Claire, dinna go till I’ve had a chance to explain,” he begged.

“Explain to which one of us?” she snapped and tugged to free herself from his grasp.

“Please, Claire, it’s no the lad’s fault. He couldna understand the truth of things and made what sense he could,” Jamie bumbled as he fought to complete rational thoughts and statements when she could see nothing in his mind or body would cooperate. 

Claire looked down at the pile of photos in her hand and Brianna’s smiling face.

Tell him everything. That’s what Brianna had made her promise. She was nowhere near through telling him everything. And Jamie obviously had a lot of telling to do before he’d get through his everything.

Almost twenty years. Twenty years of longing to talk to him, to tell him what was on her mind and in her heart. Having him standing before her didn’t make that ache go away. It only made it stronger.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, finally pulling her wrist free. “Not yet, at least.” She slipped the photos of Brianna back into her pocket. “But the first chance we get, you’re explaining to me why your son seems to think I’m his mother.”

Jamie looked like a man given a brief stay of execution as Willie came running into the main shop from the back room with his freshly washed hands held out in front of him for inspection and splashed water soaking into his shirt and breeks.

“Come along, Mam.” Willie eagerly took her hand and tugged her toward the room he’d just left. “I want to introduce ye to Bonnie.”

“Bonnie?” Claire asked, confused.

Jamie made a sound of amusement and exasperation behind her but she ignored it and followed the excited child. 

“Tha’s what Da calls her cause she’s a bonnie lass,” Willie explained. He stopped in front of the open printing press. “She is though, is she no?”

“Oh,” Claire exclaimed, finally understanding. “I’m afraid I’ve never seen one before, but yes, I do think ‘bonnie’ describes her well. I hope you’re careful around her. I wouldn’t like to see what would happen if you were to get your hand caught or your fingers pinched,” she warned with a maternal air she’d perfected with Brianna. The boy’s expressions were so like Brianna’s she worried she might inadvertently refer to him by the wrong name. “You leave the press work to your father.” 

She chanced a glance at Jamie who ran his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit she remembered all too well. “You don’t mean to tell me he has anything to do with this machinery… do you?”

The degree of Willie’s indignant pride matched her the degree of her own horror.

“I have to help Da wi’ Bonnie. Not the pressin’ part,” he clarified. “Just the wee type. My fingers are better at it than his.” 

“You set the type?”

Willie puffed up at Claire’s tone of impressed disbelief.

“Aye. I ken my letters forward and back,” he boasted. “I have to. See.” He pointed to the plate in the press and it’s mirror text on the printed proof drying next to the press. 

Claire let out a startled laugh. “So you do. Forward and back, just as you say.”

This time when she looked to Jamie it was with a smile. He saw and visibly relaxed. 

With each remark from Willie came a wave of growing affection and longing. The similarities between Willie and his absent older sister made Claire’s heart ache for Brianna. What would they have made of each other, these oblivious siblings? Would Brianna have been the protective sort or would she have found him annoying? Would Willie have worshipped an older sister or resented being treated as the baby who needed watching?

Seeing Willie with Jamie, too, left Claire mourning what might have been—what  _ should _ have been. She had never had reason to doubt Jamie would be a good father, but seeing the evidence before her eyes and knowing Brianna had been denied that relationship with him… that Claire herself had been denied the chance to see Jamie grow and learn as a father and had gone without her support even as she forged her way through motherhood without his encouragement and confidence to buoy her along…

There was no way to reclaim that time lost. But there were fragments of those lives that might yet be pieced together into something functional. If it was what Jamie wanted. From the way he looked at her, she had hope that might be the case.

But would she be able to withstand the enfy she felt on Brianna’s behalf, that Willie got to have and know Jamie when their daughter never would? And what about the way her stomach twisted with betrayal at the thought of jamie with another woman, at the thought of that woman carrying and bearing his child? Then there was the prospect of her betrayal. Would she be betraying Brianna if she were to share her maternal love with a child not her own? 

Claire moved in a daze as Willie chattered away about the things he could do and the placed around Edinburgh he wanted to take her to see. Jamie spoke up every so often, gently chastising and checking Willie’s behavior and attitudes. Mostly he just watched them with a quiet smile on his face and home and sadness warring in his eyes. 

The day wore on and their stomachs demanded attention. 

Jamie led them to a tavern, apologizing for the noise and crowd but explaining while Willie was distracted that it was one of only a few establishments that had more legitimate lines of business than unsavory ones. 

“And there’re rooms ye can take if ye like,” he added quietly, his face going red.

“Why can she no stay wi’ us?” Willie asked, his youthful hearing zeroing in immediately on the conversation intended to exclude him. 

“Ye think we’ve room enough?” Jamie challenged. “Are ye willing to sleep in a cupboard? It’s about all the space we have to spare.”

“She can share wi’ one of us,” Willie insisted, scooching his seat closer to Claire. “Or you and I can share, Da, and she can have a space to herself.”

“Why don’t you let me see for myself and decide what I’d like,” Claire interjected. “It’s not polite to decide what someone else will do without asking their opinion on the matter,” she lectured gently.

Willie looked briefly sheepish but silently deferred to her judgment. 

When Claire looked to Jamie for his reaction, she noticed that hope seemed to have won the battle. 

“Aye,” he nodded. “The choice will be yers.”

Claire felt butterflies in her stomach.


	13. Chapter 13

There was more space in the two rooms above the print shop where Jamie and Willie made their home than Claire expected after hearing Jamie describe them. But there were only the two and both were sparsely furnished. A bed, cot, wardrobe, and short table for a pitcher and basin occupied the bedroom and a table, two chairs, and crowded bookcase comprised the sitting room. There was a hearth in the corner that could heat both rooms but meant the wall partitioning the two spaces left some things to be desired if ont sought privacy in either space.

By the time they arrived back at the shop in the late afternoon, the excitement of the day was taking its toll on Willie. Jamie had carried the lad up the stairs and Claire thought he must be asleep but as Jamie moved toward the bedroom, Willie’s arm shot out, reaching for Claire.

“Wan… Mam… do it…” he murmured sleepily.

Claire flushed but took hold of Willie’s hand. “Let your father carry you and I’ll be right behind,” she promised.

Once in the room, Jamie sat Willie on the edge of his cot and proceeded to help the exhausted child undress for bed with an ease born of excessive practice.

“Story,” Willie said with a yawn. At a look from Jamie he added, “Please.”

“Which one are ye thinkin’ then?” Jamie asked as he set Willie’s shoes side by side under the cot then helped the lad as he fumbled with the buttons on his breeks.

“When ye knew,” Willie requested with a dopey smile at Claire. The light was dim but Claire was fairly certain Jamie’s neck and ears had gone red.

“I’d fallen from my horse but I was asleep so I didna feel it when I hit the ground. If it had only been because I was tired, it would ha’ woken me but I’d fallen because I was wounded—”

“In the fight,” Willie added, demonstrating his familiarity with the story.

Jamie pulled him to his feet and walked him to the window with the table and the chamber pot beneath it.

“Aye,” he confirmed, holding Willie by the shoulders to keep him steady while he pissed. “I hadna said anything for I didna think it much worse than a scratch but even scratches bleed and bullet wounds a bit more than that.” He guided Willie back to bed and waited until he was safely tucked under the blankets before continuing.

“It felt like fire ripping through me when she poured whisky on it and I woke cursing her for the pain— _and_  the waste of good drink.”

Claire smiled behind him, remembering it a little differently but appreciating the artistic license and flair of Jamie’s telling.

“Now many women tending a man wounded in battle would apologize for causing him more pain and would do their best to calm and soothe him. They would tell him he’d done a fine job and was as brave as any man they’d seen… but no her. No, I came round to a right scolding.”

Even in his exhausted and half-conscious state, Willie smiled with amusement and satisfaction.

“She wasna shy about telling me all the foolish things I’d done that might ha’ gotten me killed and not a one of them was wrong. And when I finally got my eyes on her…” his voice dropped, “she was the loveliest woman I’d ever seen. Her hair and clothes were beautifully disheveled from the ride and she’d worked herself up scolding me—it made her cheeks a bonny rosy color.”

“What did ye say?” Willie asked quietly. His eyes were closed but his breathing hadn’t deepened yet and he fidgeted to get comfortable.

“I couldna say anything,” Jamie confessed. “Nor did I need to. She had plenty to say for both of us. I just watched and listened, did as she said while she bandaged me up with her gentle touch. She didna lie to me—couldna did she want to with a face writ across with what she was thinkin’ and that none too flattering concerning me just then. And she was gentle and caring. All things ye want in the woman ye’ll one day marry. But I didna think in those terms just then. All that went through my head lookin’ at her was that my da had been right. It felt right and I knew—I’d marry her and no one else if I had my way about it.”

“And ye did,” Willie whispered so quietly, Claire wasn’t sure she’d heard him.

Jamie bent and kissed Willie lightly on the head.

“Aye, that I did. Just a few weeks later and I’ve never regretted it,” Jamie answered, looking to Claire.

She had never regretted it either. But that didn’t mean they would be able to work through all that stood between them now.

She slipped from the bedroom and into the parlor, Jamie a few steps behind her and closing the door.

“You didn’t marry her then?” Claire asked quietly.

Jamie sighed and braced himself for the conversation that could no longer be avoided. “No.”

“Did you love her?”

“No,” he responded quickly, reflexively.

Claire was relieved and nearly laughed at the fact that that was her first response.

“Then… why, Jamie? Who was she that you would—”

“I didna have a choice, Sassenach.”

“Didn’t have a choice?” she threw back skeptically.

“Sit,” he urged her, lightly brushing the back of one of the two chairs as he moved to the bookcase.

Claire crossed her arms and remained standing.

Jamie pulled a bottle from behind a few books on the top shelf, well out of sight and reach for Willie. He took the second chair and set the bottle on the table. It was still sealed, so Jamie pulled out a small knife to get it open.

The fumes of good, aged whisky reached Claire and enticed her to the table. She sat and waited for Jamie to finish his sip before reaching for the bottle and taking a long pull of her own.

“She was a daughter of the house where I did my parole after Ardsmuir,” Jamie began, telling Claire about Helwater and Lady Geneva.

* * *

Claire wasn’t sure which of them had downed more of the whisky but by the time Jamie finished his tale, the bottle was more than half gone.

“It wasna just that it was easier if the lad thought ye were his mother,” Jamie said quietly, desperate tears in his eyes. “I wanted it to be true too. I knew it wasn’t and could never be… but hearing him say it… I could pretend it was. It helped keep ye alive for me. I kent ye’d never come back for me with you believin’ I’d died. I grieved ye for so long… Couldna even bring myself to speak yer name for years.” The tears fell and Jamie reached for the bottle again rather than wipe them away.

Claire reached too, intercepting his hand and giving it an understanding squeeze.

“I didn’t speak your name aloud for close to twenty years,” she told him, wet streaks coursing down her cheeks in the dark room. The sun had finished sinking behind the roof of the building across the street and it was beginning to grow cold. They had neglected to build a fire in the hearth, too engrossed in Jamie’s story. “The first time I told Brianna the truth—the first time I said your name… it was a tremendous relief.”

“And did she hate ye for lyin’ to her or thank ye for finally sharing the truth?”

“Both, eventually,” Claire admitted. “But I think she was glad to have had the childhood she did. As difficult as it was for her to come to terms with it when I told her… I don’t think she would have handled it better if she’d had the truth sooner. She wouldn’t have been ready for it then, but Frank was gone… and I think… The truth didn’t change as much as she originally thought. Frank is still her father in her eyes and always will be… but she has room in herself for you now, too.”

Jamie’s hand tightened on Claire’s and he looked over at her with a question in his eyes. “So ye’re saying…”

Claire rose and took the two steps to where Jamie sat. Turning herself so their hands could remain entwined, she perched on his lap.

“I’m saying, I came back to be with you and—I’m not saying it will be easy for me, especially at first—but nothing you’ve said changes things for me. I want to be with you and if that means making room for Willie… I think I can do that. And when the time is right, I think  _he’ll_  be able to make room for the whole truth as well.”

She bent her forehead to Jamie’s and his hand slid up her neck to gently grip the back of her head, his fingers working their way into her hair. But instead of pulling her down for a kiss, Jamie buried his face in her chest and sobbed. She rested her cheek against his hair, her arms loose over his shoulders and caressing his back and neck, and she let herself cry too—tears of grief, tears of relief, and more than a few tears of joy.


	14. Chapter 14

Jamie and Claire continued to sit just holding each other in the dark for a few minutes after they had stopped crying.

Jamie broke the contented silence.

“Tell me about her,” he requested. “Brianna.” Her name was a reverent whisper on his lips.

Claire smiled into his hair and kissed his crown—something she’d done to their daughter countless times.

“Build up the fire,” she instructed. “Then I can show her to you as well. I’ll go check on Willie.”

Jamie turned his head to smile up at her, relief and joy beaming so brightly Claire could feel it in the dark. His hands remained tight around her waist as she bent to meet his kiss, a soft brush of lips, the promise of later. Then he released her and she rose.

She moved quietly through the dark to the bedroom where Willie slept, listening to the noises of Jamie laying the wood and peat for a fresh fire. Claire hugged her arms against the chill that was more noticeable now that she didn’t have Jamie’s warmth enveloping her.

Willie had tossed and turned enough to dislodge the blankets from where Jamie had tucked them. Claire crouched to fix them so Willie wouldn’t get cold. Even once Jamie had the fire going, only a little of the heat would reach the cot.

Her finger traced the curve of Willie’s cheek. The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile and Claire felt a tug on her heart. She wondered if Jamie could see how much his son was like him, if he could recognize and appreciate it. Or perhaps she was so attuned to those small scraps of Jamie because it was all she’d had for so long with Brianna.

How often did Jamie see _her_ when he looked at his son—the mother that had manipulated and taken advantage but also had given him the gift of his son and the hope for a future that went along with him.

“Mam?” Willie murmured, blinking blearily at Claire who had been absentmindedly brushing his hair back from his face.

“Hush now,” she whispered, bringing the blankets up to his chin once more. “I’m right here.” She swallowed hard against the word and the thrill it sent through her nerves, even as it twisted her stomach with guilt. “Go back to sleep now.”

She brought a finger up to the bridge of his nose and lightly traced it down to the tip. It was a trick she’d learned when Brianna was a baby and fought going down for a nap. Sure enough, Willie’s tired eyes tried to follow the movement of her finger and as it passed down and out of his sight, his eyelids followed too. Once closed, they resisted his efforts to lift them again. He sighed deeply as though consciously abandoning the fight.

“Good night,” Claire murmured. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

With his eyes still shut, Willie sighed. “I’mma bug?”

Claire laughed quietly and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

“You are,” she whispered so she wouldn’t rouse him further. “You’re my little bug.”

She stayed with him for another few moments, heat and a gentle glow slowly filling the room as the fire grew.

It wouldn’t be hard to love this boy. He was already worming his way into her heart, his affectionate “Mam” crawling under her skin and settling comfortably in her bones. Her little bug indeed.

When she heard Jamie stirring to seek her out, Claire left the boy to his dreams, shutting the bedroom door behind her.

“He’s inherited quite a bit of the Fraser charm and stubbornness,” she remarked with an amuse smile.

“He got a hefty helping of them from Geneva too,” Jamie answered with resignation.

“Well, Brianna’s is all Fraser,” Claire said, slipping the stack of photographs from her pocket and moving to sit on the floor near the hearth.

His knees cracking with the descent, Jamie chuckled as he settled on the floor beside her. “I’m sure some of that’s Beauchamp stubbornness. And charm. Ye had plenty of both yerself before ye ever wed me and became a Fraser.”

Claire grinned and passed him the first of the photos again. He tilted it toward the light of the fire. The way it caught made the dark smudge of her hair in the black-and-white image look aflame, just as it had the first time the nurse had handed her to Claire.

“It’s nearly her birthday,” Claire began, leaning into Jamie’s side so they could both look at the pictures as Claire shared the story of Brianna’s life—the story of _her_ life, a life without him but not entirely without happiness.

He laughed knowingly when she told him of Brianna’s independent streak and how it occasionally got her into trouble, returning to a picture of Brianna standing on a chair at what Claire called a stove (though it looked like no stove he’d ever laid eyes on). Claire had told him of a time when Brianna nearly set the house on fire trying to make breakfast for Claire after a long and exhausting shift at the hospital.

“Has Willie ever done anything like that?” Claire asked. The sting of seeing Jamie relate to Brianna through his more familiar son was still sharp but not as overpowering as it had been at first.

“Oh, aye,” Jamie nodded, turning to look at Claire. “But I was thinking of you, Sassenach. Ye were always getting yerself into trouble on yer way to helping someone in need. Careless with yer own safety when ye had help to offer. Even now… coming back to me as ye have…” The yearning was dark and heavy in his eyes, even with her so close.

Claire brushed the backs of her fingers along Jamie’s cheek to his temple. He turned his head further into the caress.

“I came for more selfish reason than that,” she whispered. “I know it occurred to me that you might have moved on, that showing up like this would have been completely disruptive and destructive to whatever you’d built… But I wanted to see you again, whatever it might do to you. There was also Bree to consider. Leaving her on her own like that… _She_ insisted I come. That you know she and I had made it. That you’d accomplished what you meant to when you sent me through.”

“D’ye see?” Jamie murmured, setting aside the photos of Brianna. “Selfless and caring, just like her mother. Seeing that ye needed to go and making sure ye didna talk yerself out of it for her sake.” He took her chin gently and turned her into his kiss before she could say anything in response.

It wasn’t as soft as their earlier kiss. The heat from the nearby fire merged with the whisky in their bellies and melted the stiff formality and lethargy that had been between them earlier in the day. Edges had begun to blur and words weren’t enough anymore.

Claire slid her hands up Jamie’s chest, tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt and pulling herself closer.

His arms engulfed her as he pressed her flush against himself, his hands splayed flat across her back. He pulled away briefly, a question in his eyes as he traced the seam of the zipper up her back.

She giggled and reached around to take hold of his wrists, bringing them forward and resting them on her hips. “Don’t worry about that just now,” she told him breathlessly. Her hands started pulling up the layers of her skirts until her slouching stockings and the pale, bare legs beneath them glowed in the firelight. “I’ll show you how that works later but for now,” she leaned back onto her elbows, grinning and wiggling her hips to position herself where she would be beneath him. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this on a floor. I might need your help remembering.” Her legs spread in invitation.

Jamie sat frozen for a few beats as though uncertain of what precisely he was looking at and whether he could trust it.

At last he blinked and shook his head to clear it. Claire laughed as Jamie struggled to keep from toppling over while shoving his breeks down and leaning forward to kiss her again.

Then he was sliding between her legs and her laughter became a gasp, a groan. His mouth covered hers and swallowed the noise. Claire closed her eyes and let her body remember—remember the rhythm that brought him as deep into her as he could go, remember the best place to grab hold of him so he’d rub himself against the right spot, remember the way to turn her head so he’d kiss her throat before moaning in her ear. Claire arched into the feeling of reckless abandon that made her feel young, like the last time they’d been with each other was the day before.

It was over too quickly. Sweat gathered at Claire’s temples and the small of her back. Jamie’s forehead pressed to the floorboards next to her head, his curls brushing her cheek.

“I haven’t… done anything like that… since…” Claire’s breathing was ragged as she threw her mind back.

“Since the last time we were in Edinburgh?” Jamie suggested, shifting his weight to the side so he wouldn’t crush Claire.

She chuckled. “If not then shortly thereafter.

Jamie pulled her skirts down to cover her legs again, then slowly moved to tidy himself, creaking and groaning in less lustful ways than moments before. Claire’s legs remained splayed as she doubted the strength left in her muscles.

“Actually,” she said, turning to look at him and reaching to trail her fingers up his thigh. “I think the last time we were in Edinburgh and did _that,_ we made Brianna.”

Jamie bent over her to kiss her again then helped her to sit up.

“Thank ye, Claire, for being mother to my bairns,” he said quietly when they were face to face again.

She kissed his cheek.

“It’s been my pleasure and my honor,” she whispered, letting his sincerity wash through her. “Now, I need to get off this floor and into a proper bed or I’ll be too stiff to move in the morning,” she joked.

Jamie helped her to her feet, wincing himself as he straightened his knees. “I’m afraid we’re stuck with the floor for _that_ unless ye want to risk waking Willie—and ye’re no quieter now, Sassenach, than ye were twenty years ago. Not that I’d change that.”

“Then I suppose we’ll need to make finding more suitable accommodations a top priority.” She walked in front of him toward the bedroom with her hips swaying suggestively.


	15. Epilogue

It had been easy to locate the print shop Jamie had described in his letters with the signed marked Campbell hanging from the post at the door.

John Grey took a deep breath before crossing to push the door open and enter the shop. He hadn’t exactly been invited. He had hinted at making a journey to Edinburgh at some vague future date and had mentioned the specific inquiries Lord and Lady Dunsany had about William but Jamie had said nothing about when a good time would be for such a visit. John scolded himself for being so presumptuous and descending upon Jamie and the boy unannounced but his own desire to see Jamie away from Helwater, free to talk and relax in a way John hadn’t seen him before was too tempting to resist.

A bell above the door chimed lightly at his entrance. The main shop was empty but the door to the back immediately drew his attention. He schooled his features to calm the excitement he felt into outward amusement and mischief.

The footsteps he heard approaching weren’t heavy enough to be Jamie’s.

Willie entered the shop with obvious annoyance on his face.

It was an expression John had seen Jamie wear several times over the years but on the face of one so young it gave John pause. He fought the impulse to laugh and only barely won the battle, a snort exploding from him in such a way he was able to pass it off as a sneeze.

“Is it healing ye’ve come for then?” Willie asked, glancing over his shoulder to a stair passage tucked just inside the door to the back of the shop.

“Healing?” John asked, confused.

The boy took John’s question for an answer. He stepped back to those stairs and called up them, “Mam, there’s an Englishman to see ye.”

John’s confusion remained frozen on his face as Willie informed him at a more reasonable volume that, “She doesna have a patient just now. She’s just tidying from the last and making her notes.”

John felt himself nod stiffly though he didn’t understand what Willie could mean. If Jamie had married, surely he would have committed some word of it to paper to let him know. Given the way Willie spoke about her, it didn’t make sense that it could be too new an arrangement.

Neither John nor Willie truly had anything to say to one another and for Willie’s part there was no interest either. At last footsteps could be heard on the stairs along with a woman’s voice scolding Willie with an easy familiarity.

“What have we told you about hollering like that? It’s more rude to scream and deafen people than it is to beg pardon and leave them alone while you deliver your message in person.”

There was something about that voice…

“Sorry, Mam,” Willie replied in a sing-song way that suggested it was a habitual response. “But what if someone were to ask for you or Da and then when I left to fetch ye he robbed us blind?” Willie didn’t lower his voice nore made any attempt to conceal his evaluative glance at John.

The woman reached the bottom of the stairway. “Anyone who might choose to rob us is dangerous enough that I wouldn’t want you in the room with them at any rate,” she told Willie. “ _Things_ are replaceable but _you_ are not. Back to your chores, now, if you please and not another word of argument.”

Willie happily complied with the request and left. She gave John a brief, conspiratorial smile than looked over her shoulder to be sure the boy was far enough away for her to speak candidly.

Something of the woman’s smile and manner scratched at John’s memory…

“I apologize, sir,” she said, stepping toward him. “Both for keeping you waiting and for Willie’s… let’s go with ‘enthusiasm.’ I’m Mrs. Fraser, but please, call me Claire. If you’ll follow me, there’s a more private room upstairs where you can fill me in on what ails you.” She gestured to the stairway but John didn’t trust his legs to move.

Claire, she’d said. Claire Fraser.

Memory and recognition crashed over John and his knees wobbled so that he reached to brace himself on the counter.

Claire surged forward to catch him.

“Sir? If you aren’t strong enough to take the stairs unassisted…” but John’s legs gave way beneath him and he heard her frantic cry of, “Jamie!” before he was insensible on the floor.

* * *

As he began to come around, John fought to make sense of his surroundings and remember what had happened. He didn’t think he’d been unconscious for very long but he wasn’t on the floor of the print shop anymore. Not a proper bed but a cot was beneath him. How had he gotten there?

“Easy there now,” Jamie’s familiar voice said off to his right.

John turned his head to find Jamie seated next to his cot with an expression of mild concern on his face.

“Claire said ye didna hit yer head as ye went down and that yer fainting likely had to do with not having had enough to eat. At least, that’s what she thought before I told her who ye were and what ye were likely doing here.”

“Where exactly am I?” John asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows and surveying the room.

“These are the rooms above my shop,” Jamie explained, reaching behind him for a cup and passing it to John. “Willie and I lived here when we first came to Edinburgh but after Claire arrived they werena enough for the three of us. She uses them now for her healing when she has patients.”

“How long has it been since she returned to you?” John drank tentatively at first but the whisky was good and the burn as it slid down his throat cleared the haze from his senses.

“Just a few months. Ye could ha’ knocked me over with a feather when I saw there standing there in my shop. I truly thought she had been lost to me forever.” Jamie’s voice had gone quiet and low. There was obvious awe and relief in it and another note that John thought might be apology… though perhaps that was his own wishful thinking.

“And… how much does she know?” John asked.

“Everything.”

“And Willie?”

Jamie sighed. “Willie kens a mother’s love and for now, that’s enough. We’ll tell him everything in good time but he deserves to just be a lad and no be burdened by heavier worries yet.”

“He’s taken to Claire then? And she to him?”

Jamie grinned. “Aye. Peas in a pod as Claire is fond of sayin.’ He’s easing up a bit now he’s used to her but he was a right shadow to her those first weeks.”

John nodded. “Am I permitted to rise or…”

“Best check with the physician herself.” Jamie took John’s cup and set it back on the table beside him before leaving to fetch Claire.

Alone again, John lay back and stared at the ceiling. His face and cheeks burned with embarrassment and jealousy. There was a vibrancy about Jamie that John had never seen before and was brighter than he’d ever thought possible. He had no doubt it was tied to Claire’s miraculous return. Curiosity ate at him—where had she been all those years—but John knew he would never ask because it was already difficult listening to Jamie talk about her. As much as he wanted Jamie to be happy—and he _did_ , he reminded himself—John didn’t need the finer details of how someone else as responsible for making him so.

John had his emotions under firm control by the time Jamie returned with Claire.

“Are you dizzy? Nauseated?” Claire asked, approaching John as he sat up once more.

“Neither,” he told her as she ran through a quick and practiced superficial examination.

“Then I suggest you stretch your legs and join us for supper,” Claire said with a warm smile and a glance at Jamie as she rose from her crouched posture.

“Aye. I’ll close up the shop for the day. I’ve a few deliveries I can make on our way home. What do you think, John?”

“I will follow your lead.”

A short time later, the shop was set to rights and locked for the night.

“There’s time enough today for a pie,” Claire decided to Willie’s obvious delight. She laughed, “And I’m sure John will want to get settled.”

“Actually the inn I planned—”

“You’re staying with us,” Claire insisted and when John looked to Jamie, his friend shrugged.

At the corner, Jamie went one direction for his deliveries while Claire, Willie, and John went another.

“Ye seem familiar,” Willie told John as they neared the Fraser’s modest home.

“We’ve met before,” John informed the boy. “But you were very small.”

“Ye visited Lord and Lady Dunsany when Da and I lived at Helwater,” Willie exclaimed with the satisfaction of solving a puzzle.

“That’s right,” John confirmed. “I’m married to their daughter, Isobel.”

“I remember them,” the boy nodded, ducking under Claire’s arm as she held open the door.

“And they remember you as well. Would you mind if I told them you send them your regards?” John was pushing it and he knew it but felt that if he didn’t look at Claire and meet her narrowed gaze, his request would go unchallenged.

Willie shrugged. “If ye like.”

“Lay the fire, bug, but let John light it. I’ll start the pie and you can help me when you’re through,” Claire instructed with a pointed look for John. He demurred having already secured the message he knew the Dunsany’s would care about most and settled in to enjoy further observations of Willie and Claire Fraser.

Jamie arrived home half an hour later and found John standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Claire and Willie were at work at the table. She’d rolled the crust and patted it into place inside the tin. While she layered the meats and fillings, she gave Willie the excess dough and tasked him with creating something decorative for the top of the pie.

John shifted his position enough for Jamie to lean against the other side of the space and watch too.

“I take it ye’re here to gather a report for Lord and Lady Dunsany,” Jamie said under his breath. “They want ye to be sure I havena been lying in my letters for ye to give them about Willie.”

“It was my idea to come in person,” John clarified. “I came because it had been some time since you left and the Dunsanys want me to reiterate their financial offer for assistance. Though you seem to be doing well for yourself.”

“Willie doesna want for anything,” Jamie assured John.

“And that’s what I plan to tell them,” John said.

“And Claire?”

“I’ll tell them that you’ve married and Willie gets on with her. Any more of the truth than that is only likely to upset them, especially Lady Dunsany.”

Jamie nodded in understanding and gratitude but then his attention was reclaimed by his laughing wife and son, the former assisting the latter in transferring and securing his doughy creation atop the pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for now. I have definite plans to revisit this AU with another arc (though it will probably be shorter) and/or a few one shots but until I can close out a few other open stories I have, I'm going to let this one be.


End file.
